Tag: fiction

Chapter 29: Of Queen and Men

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.

Neon Red: Chapter 13

AB worked a lot as late and through the weekend. He stayed home last night to regroup and relax. Tonight was fully booked, with plans aplenty. Ones that called for black on black. Givenchy broken logo joggers, a tank, and Balenciaga speeds. Monotones made sure an assortment of gold pieces became the highlight of his outfit. Neck, ears, fingers, nose, and wrist. He was dripping in twenty-four carats and wasn’t shy about it either.
Sex was pretty close to wearing fine fabrics and jewelry. Acquiring luxury brands damn near made AB orgasm in any given boutique. The high he received from shopping was intoxicating, and it didn’t stop at Kiton. No. AB just loved buying shit. He was an impulse shopper. Tupperware or Dior. Brand made no difference. Especially during long trips to Five Below.
He needed an intervention for his addiction. Such wonderful things he found at TJM. God, the priceless doodads. A box made from recycled barn wood? Yes! He desired it. A mirrored owl figurine? Yeah? Big-eyed dogs embroidered onto a pillow? Fuck yesss!
Sucking down a lung full of a Moonrock blend, AB checked mirrors. Was he being ghosted? It was a date or anything, but common courtesy and all. He’d been parked under his place of work for the last thirty minutes. A text came through at around 4 pm, agreeing to an outing. AB hit back with a location.
Seeing as they were still strangers, he offered to meet at Brickell Condominiums. Low texted thirty minutes ago. How long did it take to…well, he had no idea where the man lived.
Holding a creamy cloud, AB clutched his phone, eager to send another text when a rumbling engine and bass-heavy music alerted the senses.
I’m Da Man? Yeah, E-40.
Releasing smoke, he noted a sedan six spots down as Low parked beside him. Before hopping out, AB grabbed his FOB, device, and blunt pouch. With everything in hand, he emerged from the great value ride.
“Well, God damn, Red!”
Low’s size was a surprise, to say the least, being a halfbreed and such. They were neck and neck, almost. Non-threatening, he considered AB and smirked.
“I shoulda wore my Give-inchy too. Tryna look cute, tuh. You can’t see me, though, on your best night.”
Low rounded to the passenger side and listed against the classic big bawdy.
AB couldn’t speak with a blunt between his lips. He observed smoke streaming from his nostrils. AB didn’t want to laugh in the guy’s face, but he was clearly delusional. Poor soul. It don’t get any better than Jaxon Aubrey. Was Low ugly, unseemly, or drab?
No.
Absolutely the fuck not. Even in a t-shirt and sweats. Gray.
Pulling the backwood, AB signaled to the chunky boy downstairs. “You plan on using that?”
Low reeled. “You checking my shit already? I usually like some conversation and—”
“The gun, dumb ass.”
“Aye, watch yourself. And only if I have to.” He shrugged, opening the door. “Can’t be too careful with headhunters running about. Let’s go, Red. That summer moon is shy.”
When Low slid in, AB stepped to the driver’s side and eased behind the wheel. “Whoooa shit.”
The woodgrain was smooth and crisp white interior butter soft to the touch. Smelling like flowers.
“Wait.”
“Boo!”
AB flinched like a pussy when the female sprang up. He gave Max and Low more than enough to amuse them.
“Oooo, the salty, sassy alpha be skittish.”
She was a delightful sight, but her glasses were an irritant. After a quick hit, AB smirked.
“Maybe it’s your face,” he said in good humor, ‘cause she wasn’t ugly either. Far from it, actually. Max had silver screen old Hollywood beauty on lock, but those tattoos launched her into the ethereal. AB loved ink on everyone. As he glanced at a snickering Low, Max hollered from behind.
“Don’t be messing with me, Irish Spring,” she hissed. “I am not in the mood. I’ll shove my taser right up your ass.”
AB stabbed the dash in search of good music and took her ‘threats’ with a grain of salt. She was five-two, maybe three.
“You hella annoying, to be honest.”
“I aim to please, Jaxon,” she chimed.
“You better believe her.” Low paused to light his own wood. “She done tased me a few times.”
While AB messed with Bluetooth shit, she yammered on. Cautionary tales or whatever. Max had a pleasant, silvery voice, so he tolerated her loquaciousness.
“There we go.” AB grinned.
Max screamed in celebration, and Low coughed, spewing smoke. “Muh’fucka! Is this Whitney Houston?!”
“I know that’s right!” She clapped. “Low only plays rap garbage all night. This is real driving music.” Max giggled on all in his ear. “You like Whitney, Big Red?”
“I love Whitney.” AB glanced at Low, putting the Chevy in reverse. “I dare you to speak ill of my late queen.”
With the blunt back in his mouth, he turned up I’m Your Baby Tonight and floated onto the street. The Monte Carlo SS was a magic carpet ride.
“Listen, I ain’t got no issue with Whitney, but damnnnnn.” Low toked, then spoke on release. “You a cold-blooded alpha, bruh. How and why are you cruising around bumpin’ this? And, you white.”
“I’m Irish.”
He cackled, but AB grimaced.
“Where can I…” Low tapped underneath the stereo and revealed an astray. “Thank you. And what does my complexion have to do with anything? All that shit is inconsequential. Music is universal; it’s for anyone who wants to listen. There ain’t no restrictions.”
“That’s true,” Max added as a foul, manufactured blueberry odor assaulted him.
“What is that?”
“My vape.”
AB smacked his lips. “It stinks.”
“I hate it too,” Low muttered.
The city was alive with those coming and going. It was 10:30 pm, and most were on their way home or off to get into some shit. They were the ass end.
“You live in Brickell, with all those other rich folks?”
“No, I work there.”
“Ooooh, right, right. Your accounting office?”
“We call it a counseling office,” AB corrected, but had zero intentions of talking about work. “I have to hand it to you, she rides great. Smooth as silk.”
Low chuckled and puffed for a minute while Max sang along to Mark Morrison. Music was AB’s first love as an adolescent. That’s why he liked everything; hell, Vivaldi might play next. Perhaps Stevie Nicks, Korn, Nat King Cole, Michael Bolton, Etta James, or The Beatles.
His playlist was on shuffle.
“Low built this car.”
“For real?” AB asked, fully invested in Low’s response.
The male’s wry smile spoke before he did. “Not built. I restored her a little. You know, put something fresh on the body, and got up in them guts…” His glittering storm gray eyes swung over right on time. “I fixed what was broken, but I’ma replace the block in about two years.”
AB nodded, ignoring the sexual undertones in his statement. Smashing for Coconut Grove, he hit a few lights, but kept things nice and easy.
“Aye, make a U-turn right quick,” Low suggested.
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Once able, AB doubled back and whipped the bitch.
“The hell going on.”
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
“I have no idea, but we being followed. Seriously, I’ve watched them tail us for the last ten minutes.”
Retrieving his blunt, AB laughed and made another U-turn.
“What you doing?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Low bolted upright, looked at Max, then pegged him with a hard stare. “I don’t know you, and ain’t nobody finna put my shorty in harm’s way, fuck you mean.”
“They’re with me.”
“The tail?” he blurted.
“Yeah.”
“The hell you have them fa’?”
AB inhaled his Moonrock skittle mix and entered Coconut Grove.
No need to divulge sensitive information this early on. He wasn’t even sure if it’d go past tonight, but who knew at this point, right? His passengers were a desirable hodgepodge of gardenia, Bergamot, and Shea butter. The aroma was erotic and enticing. It’d been years since he had a menage. God willing, he’d have another soon.
Max appeared in his peripherals and stared. “How old are you? Where are we going and why are people following us?”
AB snorted and said, “You ask too many questions and haven’t answered mine.”
“You ain’t asked me nothing.”
“I will.”
“Okay, how old are you, whe—” She lurched forward as they came to an abrupt halt. “You ‘bouta go on my list, Irish cream.”
“I’m seven hundred and twenty-three, and getting older every night.”
Low hacked and leaned forward once again. “You the oldest vampire I’ve ever met. Holy shit. I thought you were like, three-fifty, four hunnit or something.” His eyes traveled from north to south. “I mean you well kept, though, Father Time. You are older than this country and the Declaration of Independence. You’re older than this whole state. The dirt we walk on, you older than—”
“I get it! Oh my god.” AB snagged his blunt, killed the engine, and tossed keys to Low.
“Oh fuck! You almost hit my dick, be coo’, bruh. I know you don’t need yours no more, ain’t no way it still works, but mine is fine.”
Max cackled like a hyena. He found the sound unappealing yet adorable.
“This shit will get old, fast.”
“Awwww.” She patted his shoulder, and he loved the contact but shrank away in irritation. “Poor alpha feeewings hurrt.” She giggled again. “Move, so I can get out.”
“Ask me, nicely,” AB growled.
“No, move.”
“I said, ask me nicely.”
Low jumped out of the car, groaned, and pushed his seat forward. “Let’s go, baby, I ain’t got time.”
“Ha!”
Max cocked a brow as her ‘friend’ offered a helping hand. Ab followed, intent on setting some motha’ fuckin’ boundaries.

Goooood evening, y’all. I hope you’ve had a phenomenal week! I’ve been editing mostly and adding to Patchwork. If you don’t know what that is, it’s my fantasy serial. It’s lighter than this and lower stakes. Anyway, this week we get a glimpse of The Troublesome Trio. I had A time writing their story, and you’ll continue to see why. I know this chapter was short, but you’ve got quite a bit coming in the next two weeks (maybe sooner). A little action, SMUT, and Maxi antics. Once again, I’d like to thank you for still being here. Stay amazing and hydrated, y’all. See you next week, bookies. Byyyye!

Chapter 28: The Swooning Succubus

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!

Chapter 26: A Queen & Her Knight

Tuesday’s weren’t for the weak. Nieema hated slow days more than off days. After five hundred years of working, moving, and shaking, she didn’t know how to relax. The only down time she had was in Bucks arms or tucked away in their dungeon.
If not for him, Nieema wouldn’t have a reason to sit ass. She was a mother, grandmother, and queen of Ravensguard. This kept her from lazing about.
June through August was her least busiest time of year. Come November, she’d be knee deep in charity work, quilt making, embroidery commissions, and festive requests that should have been scheduled months prior. December was all about the Solstice and Christmas. When Nieema jumped from town to city, checking on her people.
She had civic duties, paperwork, and housing to procure, not to mention the occasional visit from territory leaders. So, Yeahhhh, holding up in the hardware shop made her feel useless, antsy. She coulda’ been doing something productive. Instead, Nieema reclined behind the counter, scrolling on her phone. While searching for yarn, thread, and other shit she didn’t need, her night brightened.
Feet kicked up and ankles locked, she smiled. “What can I get you, fine folks, tonight? I got a discount on sandpaper and caulk.”
“What I want ain’t on them shelves.”
“I know that’s right.”
Nieema glanced at the door as he entered, Jasper trailing. And oooowee, was she a sight. Pressed, slick, and classic. There was nothing more attractive than a person who dressed to impress. She smelled better than a fresh hotty toddy.
Cinnamon sweet and dark, their scents mingled. Jasper accompanied Buck’s earthy woods and high allspice so well. Their tangled aromas made her more than curious. She enjoyed the sublime fragrance and wanted to speak on it, but decided not to. Buck’s words echoed in her skull as Jasper avoided eye contact. She hung back and perused.
Nieema dropped legs and admired her husband.
“Where you been?” Nieema asked.
“Dorthy wanted an introduction.”
“Hm.”
Nieema didn’t have nothing nice to say about the woman, so she wouldn’t address it.
“Other than that, what you get into?”
“Nothin’.”
Buck popped his gum and sniffed, sliding behind the counter. He scooted on over to the POS and tapped on the screen.
“Buckley, you got ‘bout two-point-three, and I do mean it.”
“He done pissed me off!” Buck piped. “Hawke is a red-beaked vulture, tell you what. He prayed on Jasper’s naivety and kindness. I couldn’t have it.”
The drawer popped open, and Buck got to counting the till. Wasn’t but fifty-seven dollars in it. They made the most money on weekends.
“You spooked that man. His brother texted me about it. Said he rushed home in tears. Thinks we gon’ have him beheaded.”
Buck laughed and said, “Lucky I don’t.”
“You hush. Wild boy.”
“Damn straight.” Buck cast his gaze downward and lingered. “Where’s my love?”
Nieema giggled as he descended. His crushing, breathtaking kiss roused her thirst. Nieema had half a mind to drag his fine ass to the back, but figured it rude, given their company.
After nipping his lip, she stole a drop or two. He grunted and pecked her forehead.
“Why you so quiet, woman?” Nieema asked, looking for Jasper.
She’d ventured off, disappearing between shelves and stacks. “It’d be a shame to interrupt.”
“Is that right?”
“Nimmy,” Buck warned.
Jasper sauntered on over, hands in her pockets. Her sashay was nasty, and so was the wolfish grin. Jasper wasn’t so shy or skittish now. Nieema sensed her draw. Succubi fed on desire, lust, and love. They thrived in a passionate environment.
“Dining on me and mine, are we?”
“Shhhhit,” Buck hissed.
Nieema crossed arms atop the counter and matched Jasper’s molten gaze. She was bold and unabashed, towering. Gold winked and gleamed against her gorgeous red complexion.
Jasper was a cold piece and had to know it. Bad as a bitch and sneaky.
Arrogance wafted as she peered. “I don’t have much of a choice with y’all. You freaked out.”
“You ain’t seen shit yet,” Buck said.
Nieema snapped her fingers. “You just told me—boy, shut up.”
“Well.”
He slammed the drawer and sighed. “You know how to work a register, Jasper?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Get over here and show me then.”
She stalled, squinting. “Say please.”
Nieema chuckled at her statement. Buck was the wrong one to try. He’d stroke that ego and make you feel so goooood. Finessing an unprepared dame was light work for the king of Nieema’s heart.
“Please,” he drawled, eyes glinting beneath the rim of his dusty old hat.
Fuck, Nieema wanted to give him neck right now. Drop the knee and choke.
Jasper’s confidence swelled. It was all in her face, in her smile and high chin. Nieema clocked her sure stride and square shoulders.
Poor soul thought she’d won.
“Well, since y’all are gonna do some training. I’m gonna head out. Got some business to handle.”
Nieema snatched her bag from under the counter. “Before I go, Jasper, I wanna apologize—“
“Will you be free tonight?” Jasper interrupted.
“Uhhhh, yeah. I can be.”
“I’ll see you at the ranch. We’ll talk then.”
“We sure can. Ten-thirty?”
“Done.”
“Perfect.”
“Indeed.”
Nieema checked on her man, mirth shaking him loose. Maybe he was right about patience and whatever the hell. True, Nieema wasn’t the one trying to smash last week. And yes, she’d been telling Buck not to jump the line, and hell yeah, she was fuckin’ hypocritical.
Jasper wouldn’t be ignored. Instincts told Nieema not to forsake this woman. She listened to her gut and intuition without fail. They were never wrong. If a vampire had nothing else, they had base instincts. It was a matter of survival.
Life or death.
“You two behave, and Buck, I need you to get the collards. I’m not gonna ask again.”
“I know.”
“You say that, but I asked you on Monday to pick them up. Farris just harvested them for us since yours aren’t ready. Don’t embarrass me!”
“Go on, now, Nimmy. Take yourself somewhere. We busy!”
“You ain’t busy yet, Moss Balls.”
“Nimmy, god damn it.”
Nieema cackled as Jasper asked about the term of endearment. On the way out, she eyed the duo, and they smiled. It was a delicious vision. Buck in proximity to Jasper.
Brushing fabrics with inches between them. The implication made her shudder and exit. She needed the cool rush of a late summer breeze. With fresh air came clarity, reminding her of what she needed to do before heading home.
Strolling down Everrose Street, she plucked her phone. With a tap, she dialed Hank. Folks smiled and waved. Nieema returned their friendliness in kind as her knight and right hand answered.
“Huh? What?”
“I need you to meet me at Lita’s.”
“Are you good?”
“No.”
“On the way.”
Hank had been her blade and shield for centuries. They’d traveled the world and fought; bled together. She’d dug trenches and nearly died beside the vampire. Nieema knighted Hank some five hundred years ago. He hadn’t left her since. He was family, but family didn’t always get along. He was mad about that wild bitch who tried to slaughter everyone in the coven. There was only one way to stop her. Axe and salted rainwater.
Hank was pissed, no two ways about it. He wasn’t happy with Nieema or Buck at the moment. It wasn’t his fault, though. Love potions were horrid and had lingering effects even after the victim was cured.
Hank suffered greatly at the hands of an unwell necromancer. Soon, he’d come out of this fog and see the truth.
Until then, Nieema had to deal with his scorn. Mad as a soaked burrowing bear he may be, the man would come when called. He knew to drop the shit and stand on ten toes. When it was time for knightly business, he was there post haste.
It came as no surprise when Hank rolled up and jumped from his truck ten minutes later. Serious as ever, no nonsense and alert. He joined Nieema at the table she dined at.
Next door to Lita’s was Indigo’s finest vampire dive. It catered to their kind with a menu vampires appreciated. Blood was the main ingredient. Powdered, spiced, cold, hot, mixed, pure, or tap.
The meals were fresh and hot, made to order.
“What you got there?” Hank pursed his lips and snagged a corn puff. It was similar to a double-fried hushpuppy dripping with grease. Cornmeal, flour, and coagulated blood. Of course, most nutrients were lost after frying, but it tasted damn good.
Nieema got three dozen and a medium, sugar blended a-positive. Frothy and refreshing, she sipped as Hank stole a puff.
“You can get your own.”
He grumped and chewed. Hank had a grandfatherly air about him, though he had no kids and never married. The thought often caused her pain. He’d put his whole life into serving. Nieema wanted more for him, but they’d argued about it enough.
“What’s going on, Majesty?”
“Don’t do that.”
“You queen ain’t you?”
“Hank, you can be mad all you want. But that won’t change what happened.”
He garbled and stole his second puff. “You talking to me like I don’t already know. What you call me for, huh? What’s going on?”
Nieema punched down her drink with the straw, considering her next words carefully. She didn’t know the whole story and had no intention of running her mouth about Jasper.
“Juel might have…been paid to keep tabs on our new house guest.”
Hank recoiled and blinked. “Cheryl’s boy?”
“Mhm.”
Hank stroked his beard and nodded, attention fixed on the bustling crowd across the street.
Some new space movie was released two days ago, so the cinema was packed. Free ticket Wednesdays and unlimited popcorn kept Spalding’s in business.
Its glittering marquee made her nostalgic for times past. Buck had taken her to the movies for the first official date. Back then, films were silent moving pictures.
Nieema refused to give her money to them big theater chains. No way, no how.
“What you tryna’ do?” Hank asked, mid-sigh. He crossed his arms and glowered. “I don’t know what we can get him on. He wasn’t stalking.”
“How you know?” Nieema snipped, crunching on ice. “He been watching her comings and goings. Off in the cut somewhere, eating sour candy. Sounds like stalking to me.”
“You gonna detain him?”
“No.”
“What am I here for?”
“This is official royal business, okay? You gotta be with me.”
Hank shrugged and snagged another ball. “Alright now! You gon’ lose two fingers fucking around with my food.”
For the first time in a while, Hank grinned. “Hurry up and eat so I can get back.”
“What you got going on?” Nieema considered the old vampire. “Why are you in such a rush?”
He sniffed and scrunched up his face. “My chickens. I gotta keep an eye on ‘em. That furry devil done killed ‘bout three. Nimmy, it’s bad. That man ain’t got no kinda handle on his beast or friend, I don’t know, hell.”
Hank was mighty flustered. “Who’s beast?”
He flicked a hand and snapped fingers. “Wushisname, uh, Jasper’s brother. Uh, Kit? His cat is wild, feral, and a pain in my Black ass.”
Nieema chuckled as Hank prattled on about the chaos Kit’s cat had caused. Apparently, it was possessed. A demonic kitty. How adorable, she thought.
“Well,” Nieema started, “I wish you luck, but don’t be acting a damn fool.”
“I ain’t.”
He lied.
“Yeah, right. Don’t badger Kit and leave his cat alone, you hear me?”
“Shit,” Hank cussed again, mumbling about his coops and such. “I’ll try, but Nimmy, I can’t lose no more hens.”
“I hear you.”
Hank shook his head and sighed. “You almost done? God damn!”
“Shut your rickety ass up.”
“Don’t make me knock this shit over,” Hank warned. “I’ll do it!”
Nieema eyed him and pointed two talons at his mug. “I’ll break my foot off in you—“
“I’m ‘bouta go,” Hank snapped. “You playing with my time, woman.”
Nieema laughed and finished her drink. Hank helped her polish off the puffs and even tossed her trash. With their snack date done, she headed next door.
Lita’s was one of two hair salons in Indigo Plains. And folks loved Lita’s cause; Marshay braided better than Princess, who had a chair at Wax. Nieema preferred Lita’s, mostly cause it wasn’t so prim.
Hot irons and food scented the air. It was a welcoming aroma she found comforting. Every last chair was taken. Folks looked mad and defeated. They had appointments, for damn sure, but time was of no value the second you crossed the threshold.
“Look who decided to show they face!” Marshay bellowed, eyes on the hot comb she held with care. “You come up in here after taking them braids out for no damn reason.”
The owner of Lita’s, named after her late mother, tapped somebody in the temple.
“Girl, you got nerve. You bet not fall asleep in my chair!” Marshay lifted her carmine stare and tweaked a brow. “They were fine, Nimmy. Shit. You be wasting my time.”
“Look, here, you know I gotta switch shit up. Don’t know why you mad.”
“Tuh, do your own hair from now on, then, Queen.”
“You so huuuuurrrt,” Nieema grimaced and pointed at Juel. His chair was second to last. He sat in it, eating. “Listen, imma buy you lunch, Shay.”
“I want a bottle of Venwae.”
Nieema cocked her head as Juel dragged tail. “Venwae! The fuck who you think I am. That’s top-shelf blood, ma’am.”
“Nimmy,” Pat called from his spot by the dryers. “You hear about the mall shit?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Huh? You heard about the Voaremont inviting the Chieftain over for supper?”
“Juel, bring your behind, now!”
“I’m coming, I had to put my food up.”
“What you mean invited?” Nieema looked to Pat. The man nodded. “Invited how?”
“You know how invites work, girl.”
“He can’t enter Ravensguard without my say.”
“Wellll, you better talk to the Voaremonts’ and the orcs about it.”
“I plan to.” Nieema glanced at Hank, who was already tapping on his phone. “Get that motha fucka on the line.”
“Already done.” Her knight exited the salon with the phone to his ear.
“Juel, baby, let’s take a walk.”
“I didn’t know you were with her, I—“
Nieema clasped a hand on the back of his neck and peered into butterscotch brown. Juel was a good boy and probably didn’t mean harm. But, he was still on the wrong side of this here situation, and Nieema wanted to know why.
“I didn’t ask you to talk, quite yet, honey.” Nieema started their journey and released her nervous cousin. “Don’t worry, Juel. I ain’t gon’ bite you. But I will need you to talk, and it’d behoove you not to lie. Start from the beginning and tell me how you got

Hello, y’all. I know it’s a few days late. I am sorry for that, but I wanted to give myself some breathing room. I wrote a few more chapters and don’t feel so…behind? I looooveee staying ahead by a couple of chapters, but I paused for two shorts that I had to get out of me!
Anyway, we are back on schedule, and here they are. We have a lot to come, and I know y’all are waiting for Buck and Jasper to have their moment. Soon, I promise.
There will also be side quests!
As y’all know, I’m a panster. And this panster loves external conflict. I’m still gonna keep stuff low-stakes, this won’t be high, world-ending shit. Nahhhh. But there will be a dash, sprinkle, pinch of political intrigue. I can’t stay away from it…apparently.
The Voaremonts’ ain’t shit. I’m going to let y’all know that now. And yeah, the surname is…Mhmmmm. Not an accident. And with their mall comes trouble of all sorts.
What else? Oh! Jasper’s cursed house is still cursed as hell, and we will get back to that in a bit. Because it’s FUNNN and I like where this is going.
Anyhooo, thank you, thank you for being here with me. Your support makes my day. Have a lovely weekend! And remember, drink water, eat that god damn muffin, and sleep more. Byyyyye.

Chapter 24: Strange Happenings

Dorthy was the best in the business. She had her shit on lock and got the job done. There was no negating such facts. She went to school for it, graduated with honors. Dean’s list all four years. Yeah, Jasper loved her setup and preparedness. She came ready with binders and folders, swatches, and textures. Buck appreciated her drive and passion to help their clients. He loved Dorthy’s work ethic and attention to detail; the woman was thorough.
But, he could do without her and Trey’s shit. They made a beautiful couple and put three gorgeous children through college. They were raised right, but things turned sour after them babies left home. They were off doing big things while their parents made a mess. Thirty years of marriage down the drain because Dorthy slipped.
Buck didn’t hate the girl for what she’d done to his grandson, but he sure didn’t like her, or the fact that she was with child, again. This would be baby number four and they weren’t even together.
Dorthy didn’t want Trey.
Fine.
Why fuck around, though, if that was the case? Buck didn’t understand it one bit. These kids and their foolishness. Trey loved her; he was a good man who didn’t deserve to have his heart destroyed like this.
And yeah, maybe Buck had something to say. Mayhap he was feeling a way about it as well. Trey had told them to stay out of it, and Buck was trying.
Goddess help him, but he kept his mouth shut as the women discussed paint options.
He smiled, meandering in the living room. There was still so much work left for them to do. New floors, plaster, beams, and even the foundation was shit. Buck had every intention of finishing before winter. The weather was calm at the moment, but it’d turn come November.
Buck had no real reason to stick around, but was forced to stay. She wouldn’t let him leave. Jasper paid him no mind and didn’t have to. Her presence was enough. Her dapper attire fucked him up from the door. A woman who looked good in anything was his weakness. Putting that shit on with confidence. She even had unmitigated gall to add a splash of something dark, spicy, and sweet.
It was her syrupy, hot, honey butter lilt and laughter tugging on his belt. Succubi were unintentionally cruel and reactive. He knew how this worked, but Jasper was like no other. He’d experienced their demonic curses and enchantments. There were none between them. She hadn’t tried to hook her claws into his soul quite yet, but she’d wanted to, he was god damn certain of it.
To keep himself steady and aware, Buck decided on a walkabout. The house was decent in size and compartmentalized like any proper old-world home. Room within a room. Pocket doors, ninety-degree angles, and an outstanding turret. Two floors and an attic he’d rather not check up on. Buck ambled and re-assessed. There was something nostalgic about them dusty, creaky homes. He could just about smell allat lemon wax and cigar smoke beneath mold and stagnant water.
He’d do his ultimate best to keep her bones; they were good, he sensed it much. On the second level, he ventured into the half bath, smelling those critters. “Y’all had better behave this round and—well, I’ll be.”
Buck noted their abandoned lavatory condo and spotted black granules. Curiosity bugged the hell out of him, so he answered its call, dabbing the dust. A brief sniff told a somber tale.
“Rest with the soil,” Buck muttered. Somebody done killed the little bastards. Which was actually against the law. Faerie of all species were to be left alone, according to the Queen Creed. Vampires, fairies, fae, and weres were safe in Ravensguard. It was neutral ground and oftentimes, a haven for those in need.
An annoying squeal and holler called for attention. Buck huffed and jogged down the rickety, warped staircase.
“Where’s ‘at god damn container?!”
“The kitchen,” Jasper announced. “Maybe.”
Hustling around the corner, he cracked his gum and gritted his teeth. Buck searched what was left of the kitchen. “Where is—” He spotted a pea green casserole dish and snagged it with two fingers. It’d been through hell.
Patience lacking, he dashed through the back door, cleared the steps in a single bound, and followed the trail he’d made.
Sissy Perkins was a difficult resident. He’d seen her at town hall meetings complaining about mismatched flowers, grass two shades darker than verdant, large dogs and their shedding on the sidewalk, wing mottling, and the smell of airing buds in bloom. Mind you, airing buds were essential to sprites, as they were a mating season indicator. There was absolutely nothing to be done about it.
“Ah, Mr. Sunside,” Sissy’s fingers flexed, reaching for her property. She snatched it when able. “Thank—what the hell happened to it?”
“Wicker spider guts.”
“Yeah, yeah. Ugly critters.”
She examined the dish and snarled, resembling a sneaky kingbird snake. They were highly poisonous, the size of a sheep dog, and killed their prey by laying eggs in its mouth. Their main line of defense was mimicry and camouflage.
“When are you gonna start working on this place?” Sissy asked, snippier than a jackal ope. Eyes on Jasper’s place, she scowled. “It’s bringing the entire neighborhood down.”
Buck nodded, gaze locked onto the duo up the street. They were nosy and chatty. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Perkins, we gone get this place cleaned up.”
“Hope so, I’m sick of looking at it.”
“Have a good one, now.”
She gave a curt nod and scurried off, joining her little friends. Buck stood watch and fetched his phone. After a quick swipe, he stabbed Jo’s precious baby photo. Two rings later, the young man answered.
“Funny, I was just thinking about you, Papa.”
“Somethin ain’t right with Sissy Perkins.”
“This ‘bout that cult shit?”
“Hell yeah.”
“How you know?”
Buck popped his gum and tipped his hat to them, weird humans. They blanched and got the hell on. Most knew him by first name and reputation instead of his title.
Buck didn’t play about his family nor the fine fae of Indigo Plains. And most humans were trouble, more than they were worth. Of course, the ones in his family tree were swell, but he was wary of those he didn’t know. The flock with bias, prejudices, and such, he loathed. If not for the appearance of an odd, freak tear between worlds a millennium ago, humans would’ve eradicated their own species at some point. Buck was sure of it.
“‘Cause I know,” Buck said, snapping gum. “The magic on her smells old, and Chessie said Jasper’s house is cursed and been cursed.” He seethed at the thought of somebody taking advantage of Jasper. His bones creaked, and ears itched. He was ready to tear a hole in somebody’s ass. “I’m about to head on over to Hawke in a minute.”
“Ohhhh shit. I heard he was the one to put up that house.”
“And didn’t think twice about taking her money. I’mma get every dime back, too.”
“Don’t hurt him, now, Papa.”
“I ain’t making no promises.” Buck snapped gum, grinding his teeth. “Get on up here and do some investigations.”
Jo cackled like he was getting his feet tickled.
“Now what the hell is so funny?! Get your silly behind over here and do some sheriff work.”
Buck cussed as his demand only made the boy giggle. Heading back towards the house, he kicked up dirt. It was dry as hell, damn near white.
“Papa, we aren’t detectives. What are we supposed to be doing?”
Buck shrugged and dropped to his haunches. No bugs meant no sustenance. He scooped a handful of craggy soil and sniffed.
“This smells bad. Like somebody done died. No silt, minerals, or bacteria. It’s cursed, alright.”
Buck stood, shaking his head. “Look, Jo. I just need to know what’s going on with Sissy Perkins and nem.”
“Shit. You got cause, Papa?”
“Yeah, cause I said so.”
Jo smiled, and he didn’t have to be in the man’s face to know it. “I’ll send Powell. He’s got senses for shit like this.”
“Good.” Buck stalled on the back porch and tapped his boot. “How’s Numa. You never said nothing, but I was worried about him.”
“Ah, you know. He’s good, good. Misses his Mama. But you know.”
It’d been two years since Jo lost his wife and they lost a great-grandchild. The pain never vanished. It was much like an angry tide. Ebb and flow. Buck found it hard to speak about the ones they’d lost. Two. Carter and Mary. He missed them. Numa was a grown man by the time his mother married Jo, but he was part of their family.
“We all do.”
Jo cleared his throat and sighed. “Alright, Papa, I got actual work to do. I can’t be running my mouth all day. “
“Yup, I love you, boy.”
“Love you too, Papa. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“Bye, old man.”
Buck grunted and ended the call. He ain’t like this picture one bit. It smelled worse than it looked, and he had half a mind to do some investing of his own.
Hitting a quick one-eighty, he thought better of it, for now. Powell was good at his job, and Buck was certain the old wolf would find something worth a damn.

So, here’s the thing, I love buck and his grouchy self. He’s definitely our grump, but he’s so soft on the ones he loves. He goes the extra mile and doesn’t play about who he claims as his family. You fuck around with them you might lose your life. Okay? I will say, the tension between Jasper and Buck is getting on my last nerves! But, I don’t know, I feel like the payoff will be great. As I have said before, I’m a panster, and I am following along with y’all. Jasper is putting this man through it. There is something in the air about her, and he’ll find out soon enough what that is. Veteran fantasy/paranormal/monster/vampire/shifter romance folks already know what time it is. Fated what? Exactly! Anyway, thank you so much for reading. You’re amazing, truly. I hope you have a wonderful week. Give yourself grace! Oh, one last thing, drink your water, love. It’s right there, I see it. Don’t let that ice melt! Byyyeeee.

Chapter 23: Tale of Two Demons

“Oh, blithe tiddies!” Kit slammed the oven door shut and huffed. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Everything, quite possibly,” Julep murmured from his post on the windowsill. His tail flicked and curled with indignation. “You’re a decent cook, my good friend, but you are no baker.”
“I completed the steps. I heeded Maggie’s instruction word for word. The cake won’t rise!” Kit garbled and stomped as he read the directions for the hundredth time. “Butter, egg, oil, whisk, sift, and—ohhhh, dear. I’ve forgotten the baking soda. And the vanilla.”
“No baker at all,” Julep quipped.
“Hush, you! If it weren’t for Jasper, I’d have thrown you out.”
“Don’t get pissy with me, old man. I am capable of making my own decisions.”
“You, are a liar my boy and quite irresponsible. And this is why you were trapped in the chicken coop with angry hens. I told you—”
Julep jumped down and padded to his water bowl.
“So dramatic! Kit, really. It’s not that serious.”
Kit cackled and slashed a hand. “Look at you! Bald spots, demon! You’ve got an eye patch for Undervell’s sake.”
Julep ignored him and lapped quietly.
“You could have died, sir.”
“But I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never felt more alive.” Kit sighed as Julep leaped onto the counter and sat. “It reminded me of the old days when we chased kettle duns all cycle and ate sugared bugs. Besides, what else am I to do here?”
Kit patted Julep’s head and gave him a good scratch, minding the reddened, sore patches of skin.
“You have to be more careful, demon cat. I’d rather not lose my best friend.”
“Off with you, that’s enough.” Julep hissed and popped Kit’s hand with soft toe beans. “I know you worry, but I’m fine. Promise. I’ve found my calling.”
“Hunting chickens?”
“And various other rodents. There is a large forest just beyond.” Julep turned his attention to the window, yellow eyes now saucers. His purr was curious and adorable. “It’s a fascinating place, Kit. Truly. You should come with me one day.”
“I will never step foot into that verdant wasteland.”
Julep rolled his neck and eyes back around, pinning his fierce gaze upon Kit.
“Pussy.”
“Ha! Funny coming from a cat.”
Julep hissed and swiped claws. Kit stumbled and shoved Julep off of the counter. “Go! Get out of here. And stay off my countertops. Disgusting retch.”
Julep zoomed around the corner, scaled the wall, and screeched at Jasper as she passed.
“Oh, fuck! Would you—“ She ducked and growled at the feisty demonic feline. ”Freak!”
Julep detached and flipped onto the floor. He scrambled for purchase and dashed through the small flap door.
“I hated him as a full-bodied demon, but I think I hate him more now. He’s a menace.”
“Well, you opted to keep him yesterday.” Kit considered his little sister’s state of dress and sighed. “What are we going to do with you?”
“With who?”
“You.”
“I’m perfectly fine, and what is that smell?”
“Shiiiiiit!” Kit whirled and wrenched open the oven door. Yelling expletives, he grabbed both pans and dropped them on the counter. “My poor cakes.”
Jasper barked in laughter and plucked herself a mug. Kit failed to see what was so hilarious. His time and efforts had been wasted.
“They’re flat as ever,” he said, poking the charred disk. “I forgot an ingredient.”
“An important one, apparently.”
Kit grunted, gathered his failings, and marched to the trash bin. “Bumble today, succeed tomorrow.” He dropped everything into the trash and wiped hands on his apron.
“You didn’t have to throw away the pans.”
“We’ll purchase another set.”
“We?”
Kit flapped a hand and stored his brand-new stand mixer in the cupboard. “Jasper, you have been in the house for two whole cycles and appear to be forlorn. What’s happened?”
“Nothing.”
Her tone and mumble told Kit one thing: his sister was lying. She stirred sugar into her tea and sighed. He couldn’t help but offer some form of comfort. Their father had always said it was a flaw, caring too much.
He’d peer down at Kit and rumble, ‘A general with compassion is a dead one’.
“Jasper, you tell me who to maim or kill, and I will get it done.”
Kit stood next to his closest sibling and prepared his own cup. The tea here was sublime, and he wanted to know the distributor, but there was nothing on the sachet’s ornate box.
As he poured hot water from the electric kettle, Jasper chuckled.
“Thank you, brother. But, this is nothing we can fight.” He assessed her distant gaze, wondering who had claimed Jasper’s thoughts. “I’m a coward, is all.”
“Hardly.”
“What?”
“You left home, Jasper.” Kit’s guts rolled as he was reminded of his mission. He chose a bright citrus tea and dropped it into the steaming pool. “It is strictly forbidden. You were due to meet your tether, and you vanished. You didn’t give a damn about father or his disappointment. You are far from cowardly.”
She snickered, resting her chin atop Kit’s head. He wanted to shrink away, steer clear of such affections, but it was pleasant. Her closeness warmed his chest.
“Thank you, Kit.”
“What exactly have I done?”
“For always being in my corner.” She kissed his itchy, growing horns and battled an urge to smile. “I love you, Kitters.”
The demon grunted and cleared his throat, face hotter than Undervell’s springs. Physical touch was one thing; he could handle that, sometimes. Words, on the other hand…he’d never been one for them, mainly because Carriont told him generals carried war in their hearts, not love.
Kit gritted his teeth and huffed. “Well, maybe he was wrong.”
“Hmm?”
“I—you.” Kit stirred honey and cherry wood ash into his tea. He flushed, a wetness coating his upper lip. “Love.”
Jasper erupted in ominous laughter and gave him a bit of space. “Awww, look at you. Unlearning and shit. This is called growth, bruh.”
“Growth?” Kit frowned and sipped his first afternoon cup. He pivoted, faced his kin, and leaned against the counter. “Whatever do you mean?”
Jasper lifted her mug and sighed aloud. “There’s a lot of garbage our Dad taught us. Certain behaviors don’t work up here. And others are welcome. Like, softness, playfulness, silliness, foolery, and love.”
Kit digested her commentary for a tick and enjoyed what was becoming his favorite blend. He’d seen quite a lot over the last few cycles or days, and perhaps Jasper was right.
“Kit,” she called, forcing him to meet her pit flame stare, “you can be who you want up here. Start fresh, man. Chase that chef dream or become a deputy. You seemed pretty excited about your outing with Jo.”
“It was thrilling,” Kit said, his blood buzzing at the thought. “But, I like the chef idea more, only, well…I never intended on staying, Jasper.”
“You could if you wanted to.” She shrugged and tipped her mug. “In fact, I’m putting a room together just for you.”
“For me?”
“Yup. You can decorate it however you want. After everything is done, of course.”
He smiled now, cheeks heated. That warmth in his chest expanded only to dim.
“I can’t stay. This is only respite. Soon I’ll have to get back and fulfill my duties.”
“You mean father’s duties.”
Silence between them stretched as Jasper’s sad smile gave him nothing to work with. Kit couldn’t stay, he was here for one reason, and if he didn’t go through with it, Carriont would surely expel him.
“Jasper, there’s something you ought to know. The—“
A thunderous knocking interrupted his confession. “What in the Undervell?”
Kit set his cup on the table and saw to the person ten seconds from kicking the door in. The moment Kit touched the handle, he knew who it was. He scented him instantly and wanted to stuff embers up his nose.
“It’s you,” Kit intoned, staring at an agitated vampire. Hank’s eye twitched, and his jaw ticked as he tapped a booted foot. “What can I do—“
“I told ya’ didn’t I?”
“Told me what?”
“To stay the hell outta my coops.”
“I did.”
“Your fucking cat kicked up a fuss and spooked them gals! If it ain’t you stealing my damn eggs, it’s your ugly ass rat tryna kill my chickens.”
“I’d like to apologize for Julep’s behavior, but you are being incredibly rude. There is no need to shout.”
“Like hell it ain’t. You got no idea what it takes to raise them up and keep shit goin’. Royal boy.”
“You’ve got one more time to call me boy,” Kit hissed, confused by his anger and arousal. “I will show you what makes a man!”
“Hayyyy hay.” Jasper sidled up beside Kit and smiled. “Stop, chill bruh. It’s—Hank, right?”
“Yeah, mhm.”
“You gotta understand, he can’t control that cat. Julep is cursed.”
Hank squinted. “Cursed?”
“He’s a demon that accidentally possessed a cat, and somehow he got stuck like that. He’s a ruffian and a pain in the ass.”
Kit crossed his arms and kicked up his chin. “He won’t listen to me. I am not his owner, per se. We’re chamber mates.”
“Roommates?” Hank asked.
“Yes.”
“He’s going to kill me for this,” Kit mumbled, “But Julep is terrified of… cotton balls.”
“Whatchu mean?”
“He’s scared of cotton balls. Line the coop with them, and he’ll stay out. I can’t say what will come of the wild ones, but I shall do my best with talking to him.”
“Do more than talk to the lil shit. Control him or I will.”
“No need for threats,” Kit snipped.
“My ass!”
Hank snarled and stomped across the porch. His bergamot-spiced scent lingered like fine mist. Kit inhaled and hated the tightening knot at the bottom of his belly.
“He is a foul-mannered son of a wench.”
Jasper closed the door and snickered. “Someday y’all are gonna go at it.”
“If he intends on being a complete ass, then yes, it is inevitable.”
His sister grabbed her cup and shuffled on down the hall. “If you need me, I’ll be in my cave.”
“How about we take a walk or—“
“No, thank you!”
A door slam made him laugh. At least he was free to bake to his heart’s content without being bothered. That was, unless Hank or Jo came snooping about. Kit hummed and grinned, hating very much how captor hogs rolled in his guts at the confounding thought.

Jasper couldn’t stand how cooped up she’d been for two whole days. Cowardice had sent her running for the hills. “How embarrassing.” She snarled at the humiliating memory. A seasoned, well-adjusted succubus hiding away from some pussy. It was distasteful how quickly she’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched, savored. Nieema’s scent and satin had stained her wakeful dreams.
Jasper spent the last forty-eight playing games and eating her favorite foods. She wasted time with crafts and had even finished Nieema’s commission. It was a gorgeous piece, and Jasper was ready for another. The only way to get that was by talking to Mrs. Sunside.
She groaned and flopped on the bed. Phone in hand, she checked her bank account and grimaced. Kit’s spending habit was a problem; he’d been picking at her last few dollars for a week. Grocers and odd-ends he just had to have. “Shit.” As much as she didn’t want to, Jasper had to get out of bed and the house. She needed the little job the Sunsides’ offered like yesterday. A streaming session or a few feet pics usually helped ends meet.
Jasper shook her head, still not ready to face the public or her loyal fan base. As she rose, her phone vibrated. Checking the notif, she grinned despite fried nerves. Buck’s relentless efforts were impressive, much like his stature. Though this wasn’t a personal matter, Jasper’s heart thrummed at the idea of seeing him.
Thick masculine energies would do a body good. It’d steel her softening spine and resolve. A sliver of his soul, a sip of heady desire, was exactly what Jasper wanted. In a petty mood, she hit him back quick.
Miss me already Mr. Sunside?
She watched the dots until his reply made her laugh.
You’d be in my bed if I did.
“Yeah, okay.” She scoffed and blasted him a final text.
Self-assurance has an expiry date, Buck. But sure, I’ll meet with the decorator. What time?
Jasper marched into the bathroom, eyes on their conversation.
How about now?
“God damn,” she barked, looking at her ragged reflection. Bonnet and bags. “Uhhhhm.”
Give me twenty minutes.
Jasper set her phone on the counter and started the shower. She snatched her gown off as the screen illuminated.
Add ten more minutes. Beauty takes time, woman. Don’t be rushing on my account.
An ugly snort escaped, and with it, Jasper stepped into the stall.
Forty-five minutes later, she was fully dressed. Having an androgynous day, Jasper slipped on a pair of slacks and a silk blouse the color of a summer-ripened plum. Gold accents glittered on her wrist, neck, and loafers.
After an assessment, she snatched her phone and wallet. On the way out, she bid her brother farewell. He was in a mood over those damn muffins and vowed to have a batch ready by the time she got home.
Dusk had settled over Indigo Plains. Painting it in various shades of orange, red, and goldenrod. The lazy sun set Buck ablaze. Leaning all that body against his car, he was quite the sight. Brawny in his usual. T-shirt, jeans, shiny buckle, and silver-capped boots.
Cool red tones kicked up a fuss, causing Jasper to stare on her approach.
Buck tipped his hat and grinned. “Hot damn, you look city ready. Slick and classy. Should I have changed for this outing, Jasper?”
“It’s been a minute since I felt so pretty. Figured, why not?”
Buck lifted his strong chin, jaw ticking. Their stares clashed as his scent billowed and dark soul flushed bruised maroon. His deepening desire was conspicuous in nature. Buck never tried to hide it, but she appreciated how he ignored its calling.
Their attraction was palpable and taut, but Jasper could go no further with this. Not with where her head was at the moment.
“I don’t wanna be too forward, but you always pretty, Jasper. Don’t matter who says what. It doesn’t make you any less gorgeous.”
He didn’t offer her the floor, and she didn’t want to strike up a debate about her looks. Buck opened her door with a wink. Jasper smirked and slid into the butter-soft seat. Sweet, smoky pine, and natural.
His organic cologne battered her sensibilities. It was strong and masculine. Just what she needed. Every second she spent in his company, she sipped.
Slowly, she inhaled, nibbled, and dined.
“So, uhm, what’s this decorator got planned?”
“The basics. Swatches, your vision, wood types, and knobs. Boring type shit and…”
Buck kept both eyes on the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel. She loved how the other gripped the clutch. Cords and veins created a work of art. From fingers to the crook of his elbow. They wrapped elegantly around his forearm and danced between ink like thick vines.
“Jasper.”
Her name rumbled and rolled like sweet syrup off his tongue. It tasted good with the hint of his smoky desire. It rippled in the crackling space between them and swelled.
“What can I do for you, Buck?”
She’d inched closer, arm behind his head. Casual and relaxed, Jasper peeped the mysterious driver. He was loaded and packed with dark energy; it was enough to rock her loose right here in the front seat.
Foul how he affected her. Egregious, really. She wanted to both flee and flay the man who smiled.
His dimples disgusted her.
“Maybe I should be asking you that question.”
“I’m good.”
“You say such things, but we know what time it is, succubus.”
“Drive and shut your mouth.”
Buck chuckled, deep bellied and maniacal. She loathed the visceral reaction it caused. He stirred the slick potion, dampening her slacks.
He killed the engine and hopped out. Jasper peered out the window and scoffed. They’d arrived at a physical representation of despair. Her sickly home looked no better beneath the dimming sun.
Grumbling, Jasper emerged from the vehicle and hiked up her pants. She grunted at the fucked veranda thingy and porch.
“Hellooooo there.” The sing song voice belonged to a willowy, copper curled beauty with shimmering freckles and crimson wings. The gauzy set fluttered as she offered a hand. “My name is Dorthy.”
“Jasper.”
“Great to meet you, Jasper. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m the yammering sort. We interior designers have so much to relay and discuss. I don’t want to overwhelm you with information or—“
“You doing it,” Buck murmured.
Dorthy’s left eye twitched along with her wing. Jasper plucked at the frayed strings binding them together. On Buck’s end, they were weak and angry.
“You agreed to stay on that side while I conduct business with Jasper. Let’s not drag family affairs into this.”
“Unprofessional. I ain’t say shit about that,” Buck grumped, hands on his hips. He surveyed the neighborhood and chewed his cinnamon gum. “Get to it then, Dorthy. Shit.”
The decorator brightened, manufactured smile touching her tapered ears. “Anyway, shall we?”
“How are we supposed to get in there?”
“’Round back,” Buck said, leading the way. “Watch the spider, though. I planned on clearing it out today.”
“Wicker spiders.” Dorthy shuddered. “They live underground, mostly. Not too big on people or the moon. I find it hard to believe they attacked you.”
“Excuse me, hay there.” A familiar voice halted their journey. “Well, look who it is.”
Sissy Perkins glared more than smiled. Her displeasure obvious and sharp. She smelled of deceit and decay.
“Good to see you, Jasper. Say, I was wondering if the dish was clean. It’s vintage. My mother’s and her mother’s. Practically a family heirloom. It’d be a shame if I never got it back.”
Jasper’s brows grazed the sky as she finally smiled. It was unpleasant, surly. A show of fang and uncapped horns gave Sissy pause. The old woman sniffed, inching backwards.
“I’ll get it, don’t you worry, Sissy!”
“Thank you, that’d be terrific.”
Jasper clocked the annoying yoga instructor or pilates doll man across the street. He conversed with a middle aged human wearing a god damn tunic. Grunting, Jasper spun on her heels and followed Buck to the back porch.
Getting there wouldn’t be easy, thanks to tall grass, thorns, and feisty burrowing creatures. Jasper was prepared for war and was about to pop off cuff links until Buck cleared a path.
Blades of grass, brindle, and dry brush withered, dying beneath his soles. With each step, Buck crafted a path made of moss and leaves. It was an impressive, magical display. His abilities emboldened her curiosity. Jasper had more than twenty questions, but stashed them in her back pocket for later. After she talked to this lady about her color options.

Neon Red: Chapter 8

After being interrupted in the weirdest way possible, AB spent the next few hours resorting and stacking. Without added speed, it gave him something to do. After which, he went through everything on Tracy’s slooooooow as hell 2006 Gateway PC. XP, not even Vista. It was simpler without OneDrive, Dropbox, or Drive. Quicker too.
Anndddd ohhhhh, boy, the info one gathered. Maxine Bernice Bissette did, in fact, own Ink in Hell. Daddy supplied funds, however, as he did with everything else. The Wrangler out front, a shared phone bill, and Maxine’s monthly allowance. She had nothing of her own.
AB dug in his pocket and pulled out a cherry Jolly Rancher. He unwrapped the hard candy and tossed it back.
There was no reason to be a hundred years old and not have something going for yourself if you had means. At first glance, this woman had every opportunity to be independent. Why wasn’t she self-reliant?
A woman who couldn’t take care of herself was unattractive. Personally, AB hated those who didn’t have a pot to piss in or two pennies. Much more, he couldn’t stand the ones who’d depend on him every waking moment. Being broke was not cute, baby. Sure, okay, she owned-ran the shop.
But how much did it earn? Not enough. Not in Miami, and not for a spoiled female who lived comfortably with daddy her whole life. “A damn shame.”
Sucking on his brand of crack cocaine, AB clocked the time. 2am. Roughly five hours of work. “Not bad at all.”
Accounting was something AB liked quite a bit. He loved numbers and boring, monotonous work. Hell, why not? Living was boring, so why not find a career just as tedious? With this job, AB enjoyed the freedom. Having no boss and long hours, if he wanted them. It was more of a hobby than a profession at this point. AB dragged ass going through the paperwork and shit because he enjoyed it.
Knocking around the candy in his mouth, he shot to his feet and tidied himself. Cuff links, vest, and lastly, his suit jacket. He willed the light off and promised to return. There were two tubs left and however many boxes.
On his way out, he closed the door and hoped Tracy was near. AB had a question or two, nothing big. Just a few discrepancies here and there. Passing Maxine’s room, he sniffed and growled.
She smelled amazing. Fresh gardenias and fucking Shalamar. Classic and clean. Then again, she was a poor commoner, a female who’d demand a band and diamonds just for breathing. He shuddered and stalked into the formal living, whereupon he sat on the sofa.
Perusing Tracy’s home was boorish. Someone would come along, with lights blaring and the precious aroma of grilled meat piquing his interest. Maybe he had some ramen at home, or Ricearoni. Biting down on hardened corn syrup, he watched as two stooges came laughing through the front door.
What was up with her and those glasses? Everywhere? God damn it, she had a lazy eye. For sure, something like that. Had to be, maybe a visual impairment of some sort. A subtle limp too, that wa—her thighs were throwing him off, but her not boyfriend stared.
“Why you just sitting there?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for Tracy.”
“My dad is out back,” she laughed, “oh my god…” Biting her bottom lip, she shrugged.
“Ya’ll are really high,” AB noted.
“Nah, I’m coo’. Shorty trippin’ though.” Low lied, his brilliant stormy gray stare shone through slits. “I ain’t even got my half, muh’fucka’.”
“Your what?”
Low recoiled and made a dismissive noise. “Nothing, college boy. You don’t know nothing ’bout this shit. Aye, for real, your hair is fucking me up. It’s like a red light, hella abrasive and bright.”
AB snapped his cuffs and thought to count from one to ten. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to lash out in this man’s home.
“That cookie was too big, Low… Dammmmn.”
“You lyin’, they made it with that whack ass Miami Heat.” Low chuckled and threw an arm over Maxine’s shoulder. “Shit was booboo.”
“Miami heat? The basketball team?” AB asked. They exploded in laughter once again.
“The basket—man, hell nah,” Low bellowed. “Mind the business that pays.”
AB cracked his neck and sneered at a male way in over his head. A twenty-thousand-dollar suit and kind eyes fooled a lot of people. But Low knew what kinda man he was dealing with; he didn’t seem so dumb.
“You’ll get real tired of fuckin’ with me. I promise you that.”
Maxine rolled her neck. “Ooooo.” She snorted. “Anyway, where the steak at?”
“Ah, Jaxon.” Tracy arrived, saving the day, but Low made an odd choking noise. “You’ve finished?”
AB smiled and stood. “Yes, for tonight, of course. I’ll be back Monday bright and early at nine thirty.”
“Splendid. Say, are you hungry?”
He nearly refused but Jaya wouldn’t have it. “Come on, Jaxon, you can’t turn down the T-Bone. Low is a master on the grill.”
“I am. When it come to the meat, I tear—” Maxine elbowed him.
“I’d love to, but I—”
“Love it so much, then eat it,” Maxine said.
“Let’s not do this again,” Tracy said, eying her.
“You know what,” Ab interjected, checking the Audemars. “I have some time.”
The male clapped once in celebration. “Perfect, it’s such a lovely night. Shall we?”
Everyone sauntered outside and AB was dead last. ‘Cause weeelll, ass was ass, and it wasn’t slim pickings up in this bitch.
“What a fine entertainment set up you have here, Tracy.” Sitting at a long patio table tucked under a cedar pergola, AB was actually impressed. He noted bottles of wine, bread, and various sides. Potent spices, mesquite, and peppers scented the humid night air.
They had ample lighting and smooth jazz; it was a nice touch. Everything dinner guests needed, with a built-in TV, full-sized grilling area, and room for twelve.
“Thank you so much.” Tracy grinned, admiring his well-tended backyard. “Interior design is a hobby of mine.”
AB placed his bag in the chair next to him and said, “If that’s the case, then I think you should start taking clients and build a portfolio.”
“Oh no.” He waved a hand. “Pipe dreams earn no living.”
“Pipe dreams can and will earn a living if you’re passionate enough,” AB replied, removing his jacket for the second time.
Maxine nodded. “Word.” She sat opposite him and giggled her ass off. “That’s right, Dad. Passion breeds success.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” Low added, but Maxine rolled her eyes.
“Shut up!”
“Use your inside voice, Maxine. For God’s sake. We have company. Mind yourself, girl.”
Jesus, Tracy was a nightmare. No wonder she used her body as a canvas. Rebellion appeared in many forms, and he bet money her pops hated tattoos.
“Sorry, Father,” she amended, adding bass to her voice.
“Meat coming right up!” Low shouted from behind Max. He glanced at AB. “Hope it ain’t too sweet.”
“You’ve never made it sweet, Elliot.”
Jaya was minding her own quiet business. On the phone and smiling about something.
“How long have you worked for Tracy, Jaya?” AB asked, stirring a bit of conversation. “If you don’t mind.”
She looked at Tracy and didn’t speak until he nodded. “Since nineteen-twenty-one.”
“That is a long time.” So Max had been waited on hand and foot since birth. A nanny. Jaya was Max’s nursemaid, what the fuck. He kept a bout of hysterical laughter to himself.
“It is, but I think of them as my family.” She shrugged and beamed. “They are my family.”
“Awwwwww. I love you, Jaya.”
“I love you too, Maxi.”
“Dear god.” Tracy’s disgust shone on his tight features. “What is that smell?”
Jaya’s attention cut to Max.
“Yes.” AB grimaced. “What is it, a skunk?”
“Nah, it ain’t that,” Low murmured, handling the steak platter. They smelled hella good, too. “It ain’t that stank.”
Max and Jaya snorted, but AB missed the joke. “Well, it’s strong whatever it is.”
The man smirked, showcasing a mouth full of golds. Even his fangs gleamed. “I’ve come in contact with more pungent aromas. This one is subtle, but it almost stinks.”
“Elliot, what are you going on about, man?” Tracy looked up at him while a slab was dropped on his plate.
“The smell, Tracy.”
“Oh yes, I may have to call pest control.”
Max giggled and went for the bread. “What is this? Sourdough, yeessss. I love bread. Mostly cause you can put butter on it.”
A 24-ounce T-bone was dropped on AB’s plate; juice splattered. He gaped, staring at his vest. A six-thousand-dollar Taupe Kiton vest, which he had waited two weeks to have tailored, was now stained.
This motha fucka had a death wish.
“I’m so sorry,” Low intoned. “I didn’t know it was finna hit like that.”
“Elliot, that was quite rude.”
AB chuckled, unwrapped his utensils, and snapped the dinner napkin. “It’s A-okay.” Glaring at the male, AB smiled. “Accidents happen.”
Low sniffed and moved on.
“Are you sure?” Jaya asked. “I can get some club soda.”
“Oh Jaya, I fear that’s Vicuña.” The pity on Tracy’s face spoke of a man who understood AB’s pain. “Club soda would compromise the material. I hope it comes out in the dry cleaning.”
“I’m sure it will,” AB said in a delighted tone to shield broiling anger. “What do we—”
“You don’t want no sides?” Low nitpicked as he sat next to his not girlfriend. Who mind you, was an inch away from turning her steak into a pillow.
“No, I’ll take bread, that’s enough for me. Tracy, are you not hungry?”
“He’s vegan.”
AB winced at the unexpected, curve-ball response. What terrible vampire etiquette. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” Tracy said. “The environment is being attacked. And we will be here long after the human waste reaches their expiry date. If we don’t do something, we will be left with nothing.”
“What are we gonna do when they die?” Max asked, as it seemed she’d come to.
“That is too morbid a subject, Maxine.” Her father’s words were terse as he cut into a… tofu, cauliflower, bean… steak, thing. What the fuck did vegans eat? “Such discourse is not fit for a gathering of this nature. So, Jaxon, are you from Miami? Well, you know.”
“Uh, do you mind?” He pointed at a tempting bottle of Cabernet.
“Oh no, of course.”
AB gripped the neck, poured a decent drop, and loved how it’d been aired beforehand. Tracy was a man of class and culture.
“No. No, I am not from Florida. I moved here about eight years ago. I was born in Ireland, moved to London, and then to the States. I’ve been here siiiiince… seventeen-ninety-five.”
“Before its inception?”
“Yeah, my mother and I hopped a Spanish vessel and wound up in Cali. But she lives in London now.”
“Californiaaaaa?” Max sat amazed, and it offered AB more insight. Bet his left nut she’d never been out of state.
“Yes, it was a long time ago.” Slicing into a superb slab of beef, he changed topics quick as hell. “Tracy, you’ve been a busy bee.”
“Indeed, I’ve acquired a lot over my lifetime.”
With an immaculate sliver of beef on the fork, he shoved it between his lips, annnnnnd, heaven sent. Damn it, Low made a mean steak. Succulent, with a glorious char and rare. Rosemary, garlic, onion, cayenne, mesquite, applewood, not charcoal, and sweet cream butter.
“Although you ruined my vest, I must hand it to you. This is a phenomenal steak. It’s top tier.”
Low smiled lazily and lifted his glass. “I’m something like a chef.”
“He is,” Tracy agreed. “Maxine!”
Her head popped up. “Huh? I don’t like Neapolitan ice cream.”
AB chuckled at her… what did the kids call it? State of inebriation. Low thought it was funny, too, but he wasn’t doing any better.
“Are you tired?” Tracy prodded.
“Yeah, bruh.”
“Don’t bruuuuh me, young lady.”
She only laughed. “Steak! Yesss.”
“As I was saying, Tracy, you’ve dabbled in a fair share of real estate.”
He nodded but shrugged it off. “I have. I flip houses.”
Tracy was a liar.
“Ohhh, that explains it. Makes sense.” It did not. And AB had every intention of digging deeper, ‘til he got to the nasty, bitter core. Then he’d make Mr. Bissette an offer he’d dare not refuse. For now, AB would accept the fallacy and enjoy his fabulous meal.
In the end, he had two cuts while they sat outside and conversed. The weather, TV shows, and stupid shit people talked about. AB made certain not to speak on personal matters. He didn’t know them, and putting your business in the street had the capacity to bite you in the ass. So, he kept it nice and easy, even through the hummingbird cake and a bubbly dessert wine.
But as with all things, their fun came to an end. AB had had enough small talk for one night. “Wow, you all sure know how to party.”
“This wasn’t no party…” Max giggled and had a good five minutes left in her. The nodding worsened by the minute. “Oh, you’re an accountant. Meehhhh, boring personality, bruh.”
Tracy clapped his hands. “That’s enough from you, uh… Elliot, will you escort my daughter to her room? She is out of sorts.”
“My pleasure.”
AB bit down on a raunchy comment resting on his tongue.
“I really love your hair,” Max said, allowing Low to manhandle her.
“Thank you.”
“It’s like, blazing.”
“Elliot.”
“Yup.”
He hefted Max bride style and sprinted away.
“I do apologize for my—”
“Don’t do that, Tracy,” Jaya snipped. “I swear you want Max to hate you.”
This was a deep convo not suited for guests. Tracy’s head fell as he sighed. “I have enjoyed your company, Jaxon.”
“You as well.”
On his feet, AB grabbed both the Bottega and his jacket. “I am stuffed, and Jaya, the cake was divine.”
She blushed. “Thank you, but I didn’t make that. Max did, she’s a baker.”
His brows arched. “Oh, okay.” The woman had a way with flour and sugar. That confection was moist as fuck. “Please do tell her I loved it.”
“I will.”
AB left the pair on their own and showed himself out. Halfway to his car, he stopped to admire the Monte Carlo. A sweet, sexy thing she was. He liked how the engine purred, too.
Classy.
“You wanna test drive?” Low emerged from the shadows, like AB couldn’t see or sense another vampire’s presence. The tip of a blunt glowed briefly as he advanced. “I’ll let you ride it. Ride in it, I mean.”
“You’re terrible at come-ons.” AB sniffed and shrugged. “Who uses Swishers anymore?”
“I do, damn. I was outta woods. Stay out Black folks business. You look like the dispensary type. Legal trash. What you smoke? Bongs and vaporizers? Typical white boy shit.”
AB snarled. “You talk a lot.”
“I know. It’s part of my charm, bruh.”
“Your charm?” He scoffed and flicked a hand. “I’m this way. Have a good night.”
“Let me know if you want that test drive.” AB opened his car door while Low tact on bullshit. “Prolly can’t handle it, though.”
He stopped short of getting in and faced the verbose male.
“I’d advise you to ease up while you’re ahead.” AB zoned in on his ass and sneered. “This ain’t what you want, trust me.”
Low laughed, expelling a pillow of smoke and said, “Ain’t? Look at you, so cute. I ain’t trippin’, Red. You too tight in the ass for me anyway. I like my men pensive. But believe you me, I done made more than one alpha turn coy.” Low discarded the blunt and added, “I’ll be sure to tell Max you an accountant annnd pussy.”
Unbelievable. If the male hadn’t vanished, Jaxon would have yolked his ass up. Try to kill him, probably. “Ohhhhhh, my god. I need a drink.”

. I hope yall are ready for quite the ride going forward. READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS AND LEARN ‘EM. I’m not joking. Please take care if dark romance isn’t your thing; feel free to skip certain chapters. These don’t happen in the same chapter or the next, but they are coming, and quickly. Also, I don’t know why I said mild gore because nah, there is quite a bit. For me, it’s mild, but for others, it might be too much. As always, thank you so much for reading, I hope you have a wonderful week.

Neon Red: Chapter 7

“Ndari, he’s in my house. I swear to god.” Max paced in her room, kicking clothes and shoes from her path.
“I can’t believe this, so he—”
“Yes! My dad hired him as a private accountant.”
“The chances.”
“Right,” she said, stunned that her father appointed the man who just asked for her number as a joke. It was a jest. Maybe a bet of some kind. He was definitely pulling her leg. The scarred one. Puffing on her vape pen, Max stared at the latest painting.
The results were shit.
She tried to capture Low in a state of euphoria and failed. He’d love it, but she was gonna burn this piece of awful or throw the ruined lambskin in a wood chipper..
“I just can’t wrap my mind around this. My Dad didn’t know, bruh.”
“It’s nuts, babe. He’s fine, though.”
“As hell. And he look soooo good in a suit.”
Shaking her head, Max inhaled blueberry-flavored smoke and spoke on exhale. “I can’t even be in my own home right now.”
Ndari giggled in her ear. “Why?”
“Because I don’t need him humiliating me.”
“Whyyyy would he do that?”
“Caus—” A beep sent Max sprinting for her phone. “Oh shit, it’s Low. I gotta go.”
“Alright, hon, keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
She tapped the green circle and answered with a smile.
“Wus up, baby?” Low’s voice stoked all them feel good vibrations.
“You are never gonna guess who is at my house.”
“Ronald Isley.”
“I wish,” she snorted. Being older than him, her cougar ass could give Ronny the ride of his life. “Nah, Red.”
“No, Teddie, cut lengthwise len—yeah, like that. Who?”
Rolling her eyes, Max groaned and threw the pen on her vanity. She dropped into a chair and examined the mermaid on her neck. Her hair needed shading. A brighter purple. Maybe fuchsia. “Red, as in big ass, fine ass Red.”
“Ohhhh shit, did he follow you home? Hol’ up. Is he stalking you?!”
She laughed and said, “Nope, my Dad just put him on, bruh. I guess he’s an accountant or something.”
“Whhhhat.” Low scoffed. “A calculator corporal?! How somebody like him work a pussy job like that? What a damn shame. Aye, I’m finna come over.”
She nodded, fiddling with her septum ring. A new one was indeed on the way. “I heard that. Bring your fine behind on. I need you here with me in case he tries to hit my line.”
“You might as well giv—”
“Hurry up, Low!”
With a tap to her earbud, she killed the call and shot to her feet. Max jumped to it, ran ass in the bathroom on a slide, and dashed to the closet.
There were only minutes to spare since Low lived nearby. In her dressing room, she lost the SpongeBob onesie and exchanged it for something decent. Purple leggings and a cropped, sleeveless mock-neck thing.
Feeling cute, Max sprayed her throat with Shalamar and slipped into a pair of furry slides. Back in the washroom, she put the straightener to use real quick. It may have been time for a cut. Too long and too much dye was required.
With her hair done and bone straight, them deadends touched her waist. She didn’t wear it straight often; her curls were too healthy for that. Plus, dual tones popped after a wash and go.
“Okay.” Back in her bedroom, she marched to the dresser and ripped open the top drawer. Its deep belly was filled with sunglasses. She had a menacing stare, as some have said. Max was an old woman who had come to love certain things about herself. The eyes were a sensitive topic. She still had issues accepting it. Her mismatched set was worse than back-rolls and a wonky leg.
Some glasses were tucked into cases, both hard and soft. Others had no case at all. Her collection was a colorful menagerie of generic no-name, Prada, and Ray-Ban. She had about a dozen that were well over fifty years old, and ten she had bought days ago. Max re-upped on shades damn near every night. Online or in-store, somehow, she had a new pair daily.
Max went for steampunk dystopia. The metal rimmed goggles would block peripherals, but so be it. They were also highly reflective, which she loved.
Once donned, she slammed the drawer and twirled. Low lived nine minutes away, and given how he drove, she should have known better.
The man barged right in and froze.
Max dashed for the canvas, stood in front of it, and smiled. “Get out! I’m coming.”
“What is that?”
“Nothing.”
“You lying.”
Stepping over her clothes, he grabbed Max by the shoulders and lifted her like one would a toddler.
“Haaayyy!” she shouted. “I’m ‘bouta mess you up.” She kicked his thighs and growled until he put her down.
“Max…this is fire.”
“No. It’s not. And I didn’t even want you to see it. Asshole.” She scowled and sneered. “You’re invading my privacy. Bringing your bad energy in here. I just smudged my space.”
“I’m taking this home,” he whispered.
She tried not to grin and failed the mission. Of course, he wanted it, Low loved her art.
“I messed up some on the grill part. Don’t think I got the correct shade of gray for your eyes either.”
“It’s fine, perfect even. But put it somewhere else before Tracy comes up in here.”
“Right.”
Max loosened latches and plucked the painting. She stashed it in her closet for safekeeping and hurried back.
“Okay, now get out.”
“You need to clean your room,” he barked, kicking her things. “This don’t make no damn sense, Max. You a hunnit years old, bruh.”
“I’m a creative! I don’t have time to clean, now go.”
Shoving his butt with a foot made him stumble and laugh. She closed the door and was met with her father’s displeasure.
“Elliot, I didn’t know you were stopping by. Tomorrow night, we have a run to make.”
“Sure thing. Just text me.”
“Excellent. And why are you wearing those in the house, Maxine? Is it because of our guest?”
“Duh,” she replied.
“After the stunt you pulled, please. I will lock your bank account.”
Tracy had the capacity to be a reeeal jerk. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Hm. Elliot, would you care for a bite, libations?”
“No, I’m good, Tracy.” Her dad nodded and turned on his heels. Low leaned into her ear and whispered, “This is why I said you need to move out. He treats you like a child. And what stunt? What you do now?”
“Nothing, and shhh.”
He mumbled and cussed. Low hated how cooped up she was, and how Tracy forgot her age sometimes. Her father had been strict and judgmental her entire life. And yeah, her mental state took a blow every single night. But right now, Max didn’t have many options. There was more at stake than her pride.
“Come on,” she ordered. Tip-toeing ahead, Max fought a rising urge to giggle like an idiot. She stopped, looked back at Low, gripped the handle as tightly as possible, and twisted. It turned silently, thus allowing her the ability to peek into Tracy’s office.
She couldn’t see anything.
“Where is he?” Low asked and was too damn loud.
“Are you trying to get us caught, shut—”
The brass was ripped from her clutches and god damn, his zipper was in her direct line of sight. Snapping upright, Max retreated, bumping Low’s hard body.
Red was a lot bigger.
She was stuck between two males who were well over six feet tall, and being five-three, she was positively dainty.
“What the fuck are y’all doing?” Red asked.
“Don’t be rude,” Low commanded. “We was coming to say hello, witcho mean ass.”
Red filled the doorway, just like Low. And her homie wasn’t even Pureblooded, hm.
Not so big now, huh.
Max felt better for Low, honestly. Purebloods thought they were superior to all others, or so she was told. Never talking to one on a personal level, until now.
His fierce, golden gaze traveled between them.
“Are you two joined at the hip?” he intoned. “Do you go everywhere she does?”
“If I did? What business is it of yours?”
Max smiled and pursed her lips. “That’s right, so what if he follows me like a stray?”
“Hol’ on, Max. ‘Cause you taking the shit too far, per usual.”
Jack, Jacob, crap…what was his name?
“Look here, Jack,” Low interjected. She found it hilarious when they did shit like think the same but on different wavelengths.
“Only my mother calls me Jack. Don’t say it again.”
Low chuckled. “Wait. Is your name Jack? For real? I didn’t even know.”
“She knows my name.”
“I don’t.”
“I told you my name.”
Max grimaced, twiddled her matte black nails, and clicked her tongue ring. “I forgot it. So…”
“She ain’t good with names.” Low snorted and knocked on Max’s skull. She swiped and smacked his hand. “Her short-term memory is terrible, bruh.”
The male cocked a brow and said, “You forgot my name? I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Listen, if you two are only fucking—”
She shoved the strapping stag while Low shushed him.
“Get your hands off me,” he balked, wiping the stain her hands left behind.
“Sorry. Look, don’t go saying that out loud, okay? We are not together. Me and Low. Not a couple. And definitely not, fucking.”
“Annnd, that’s your name? Low?”
Low ate it up. “Ohhh yeah, it’s on my SSI card.”
“You got a problem,” Red clipped.
“So do you.”
This was weird, but Low’s expression made their standoff quite interesting. She’d play Red like a god damn violin if need be, and if big Irish over here was feeling froggy, it was about to go down.


Low swung a telling eye to Max, stomped around the red-haired monster, and collapsed onto the lived-in oxblood armchair. This was a fun experiment. Scanning Tracy’s new office, he smirked.
“Daaammmn, it’s clean in here.”
“It is,” Max said, clearly amazed. “There are books on the shelf. Oh my god, did you do this?”
“Your pops is a slob.”
“She got it from him.” Low threw in his unwanted two cents and grinned. Predictable of her to snarl and hiss. “Don’t show out in front of company, Max.”
“So she’s not always like this?”
“She is, I just ignore it.”
“Now you’re lying,” she snapped.
Low smiled and showcased the golds she loved so much. Within the awkward silence, he pulled free a book and cracked it open. “I’m more of a Langston man myself. I don’t like non-fiction.” After a few boring words leaped from the page, Low closed the hardback.
“You’ve read Langston Hughes?”
He pushed the leather-bound novel back in its place and nodded. “Yup. Listen, what we told you, keep that to yourself. ‘Ight?”
While Red’s attention darted between them, again, Low considered their new acquaintance.
“Ohhh, so daddy doesn’t know.” The male smirked as most demons do and stuck both hands into pressed wool pockets. “He wouldn’t approve, or something to that effect. I get it. Sad. What a way to live. But if you two—”
“No.” Max refused for a third time as she dropped to a crouch. “Holy crap, you’ve been busy with his finances.”
“She’s free to fuck whomever, as am I.” Low carried on their conversation, keeping his voice all the way down. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. “We, aren’t a thing. She do her, I do me, etc.”
Taking another L wasn’t on the calendar for this year.
“That’s amusing and—don’t touch that,” Red yelled, spooking Max. She flinched and knocked a perfect pile of eight by eleven folders on they ass. Low thought it was hilarious, but Red, did not. Purebloods were high-strung, arrogant, and bat shit. He’d been around them his whole life. Aged Purevian males, in particular, were the worst.
On the other hand, a big ol’ angry vampire was fun to poke. Also, they’d occasionally put you in a sleeper hold and smash until you slipped into a coma.
“Oh my god, I spent an hour on that shit. I’m gonna lose it. You are costing your father money right now.”
“So, he good, he can pay for it,” Max stated plainly, glaring at her house guest. “See, I can fix it.”
“Maybe don’t touch anything else.” Red became rather agitated. Low caught a notion that this here male was a neat freak, on some ‘dont leave no fingerprints on my glass’ type shit.
Red squinted, flexing his sharp jaw. “I feel like you’re gonna make it worse.”
“No look, I can do it.” Max gathered papers with a cute smile and stacked them. “Maybe I can be a receptionist.”
“Where?” Red asked. “Harley Davidson?”
Low cackled. “Cold blooded, bruh.”
Max was tough as boiled shoe leather when provoked and had an angry streak to match. You know, ‘cause she was so tiny. The small ones always had something to prove. They were mad, ferocious spitfires. That’s why he loved short women. His shorty wasn’t insensitive, but she’d make damn sure to hurt your feelings.
And as Max painted on a fake smile, she shoved another pile. Then a second. She emptied folders and shuffled them shits like dominoes.
“He he he, funny times over, Carrot Top. I can still tase you.”
Standing tall-ish, she shrugged while the fair-skinned vampire flushed a brighter shade of red. His hair wouldn’t be outdone; it was the same hue as a ripe pomegranate.
“Do you dye it?” Low asked.
“What?!” The accountant snapped and scowled at Low. “What are you talking about?”
“Your hair?” Low gestured to his own durag. “Do you dye it to get it that red?”
“No.”
“Wild. It’s heavy white people shit. What is you? Irish or Scottish?”
“He’s magically delicious,” Max belted. “A bowl of L-”
“I swear to god, if you say—”
“What are you going to do exactly?” Max canted her head and grimaced. “Are you an abuser? Because if so, that’s deplorable behavior.”
“I got pahtna’s who can fit you with a toe tag for nothin’.” Low wasn’t playing with them words. “Believe that. So the choice is yours, pretty boy.”
Red anchored a steely gaze upon Low and tweaked a brow. “Are you threatening me, halfbreed?”
Thinking about it, Low admired the coffered ceiling, his boot-clad feet, then Max.
Meeting Red deadass in the eyes, he nodded. “Yes, I am.”
GQ here was a paper pusher. A Pureblood, sure, but still just an accountant. Age didn’t correlate with wisdom. Old heads were often taught quick lessons by a hungry YN who’d do the most to eat.
Red didn’t seem the type to scrap with the likes of Low. Most halfbreeds cowered under a Pureblooded male’s scrutiny. Not him. Low wasn’t intimidated by no fucking body.
“Wus good witchu, pimp?” Low asked, knowing the dapper white man wouldn’t comprehend his query. As his eyes narrowed, Red smiled and popped them dimples. That was some sexy shit to say the least.
Mister number cruncher pivoted and refocused on Max. “Get out.”
“You’re in my house.”
“I’m in your father’s house, now get, out.”
“I can make him fire you.”
“I don’t care,” Red said. “By all means.”
After two long strides, his wide frame fell into the squeaky executive chair and rocked. “No sweat off my back. I’ll get paid for my time regardless.”
Low slapped his thighs and pushed off. “Let’s go, baby, ‘fore he has a cornea.”
As he opened the door, Max paused and threw a salty look at the tight-ass accountant. “Don’t get testy, Big Red, I’ll take it to hell and rip your dic—”
Low yanked her mouthy self by the collar.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
Holding her two feet from the floor, Low glanced at the vampire. “Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.”
Max screamed and kicked as Low closed the door. “Put me down!”
He dropped her.
“Gently, would have been nice!”
“You want that man to murder you? ‘Cause if you keep talking, he finna pop off, then I’ma retaliate and thhhhen I’ll get pinched. Who’s gonna take care of my brothers? See the snowball there?”
Max grumbled and stalked to the kitchen. Low followed and stopped at the fridge for a quick bottle of B-positive.
“You so ill-tempered,” Low said.
“I’m not.”
“Please lie to somebody who don’t know you.” On the counter, he found sugar and snagged it. “What you do earlier, anyway?”
“I accused him of stalking me, and I guess I said something about calling the police. Then I questioned his intellectual status.”
Low laughed curtly, shoveled a tablespoon of C & H, and poured it in his blood. “Whew, you might regret this.” Five more were added before he twisted the top back on and shook it.
Facing Max, who sat on the island enjoying a blueberry scone, he winced. “Disgusting.”
“It’s a delicacy.”
“Anyway, he’s feisty, bruh.” Cracking the top again, he swigged, and Max shuddered.
“You are the only vampire on the planet who adds sugar to blood, and drinks it cold. You committing a sin and upsetting our bloodsucker ancestors.” She shook her head and bit into a real cardinal sin. “Like, it’s abominable what you be doing. Weirdo shit.”
Swallowing, the revival began. He liked sweet blood, okay. What was so wrong with that? Low drank cold blood for hella long. Back when he was living on the streets, and it was hurricane season… a living hell. You break into the blood bank and take what you can get. True, it’d be easier to bite any old body, but he vowed a long time ago to never hunt again…ever.
“Says you,” Low deadpanned, “Who deep throats anything blueberry.”
“Yeah, and? That’s normal. It’s good for you too.”
“When you add refined sugar, flour, and butter, that healthy factor is out the window.”
She shrugged. “It ain’t for a lack of trying.”
Max giggled and stuffed the rest in her talented mouth. Fuck, he hated sneaking and creeping. Lying to his employer wasn’t a safe bet, but such is life, right?
After finishing sixteen ounces of revitalizing power, Low rinsed the mason jar and put it in the dishwasher. “I hate the sunglasses, they ugly.”
“Much like you, fat head.”
He double-backed and stood before her. A war raged within as he fought an urge to kiss the ornery devil. He loved the tiny stud in her full and fluffy bottom lip. Low never felt it when it was pressed to his. And when she wore the black lipstick he loved? Max was untouchable.
“I don’t like that neon yellow durag. You look like a highlighter, bitch.”
“Why you gotta put extra on it every time?!” He frowned. “Do I ever call you a bitch? Nah, you’d be hollerin’ if I did. You get on my ghat damn nerves.”
Max popped a shoulder and jumped off the counter. “It depends on the context, Low. And it ain’t extra when I’m telling the truth.”
“Shutcho mouuuuff, stubborn ass, that’s your problem, bruh, you talk too much.” Following her onto the patio, Low figured he probably did look like a lost puppy. “I swear, you ‘bouta make me smoke…”
“Annnnd? Bye!” Max scoffed, whistled at Jaya, and smiled at him. “We got steaks up in the deep freezer. You wanna grill some later?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The back and forth never ceased, but there wasn’t a soul he felt more comfortable with. As Max cheered on Jaya, for a  record-setting lap, his stomach dropped. If Tracy ever found out, it was a wrap. He’d give Low the boot and make damn sure Max never spoke to him again.
Tracy let him know early on that Maxine was off limits. Forbidden. But Low ain’t listen, and the girl wouldn’t take no for an answer. Their vibe thrived from the start, shaking it was hard. Both parties tried and failed. More than once. They decided mutually to cut ties on four separate occasions. Shit flopped. So, he and Max said to hell with it. Letting worrisome thoughts go, he trekked back into the house, in search of the high-priced T-Bone’s Maxi loved.

Oooooookay, this is chapter 7! If you missed it, just know, I posted the wrong one last night. What a mess, I know I already said it, but I am so sorry. Anyway, this is where we are at. I like to call them the Troublesome Trio. If you stick it out and follow their journey, you’ll understand why. These three are headache-inducing, cute, adorable, aggravating, and have sooooo much to learn. I hope you enjoyed their not-so-meet-cute. Anyway, I really hope y’all have a splendid week.  I’ll see you in a bit. Thank you so much!

Neon Red: Chapter 6

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.

Chapter 21: Ghouls & Gourds

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.