From room to room, they traveled and talked at length about decor. Jasper had never thought about her space to such a degree. Color palettes, woods, textures, lighting, and focus points. Turns out she knew Jack shit about her own wants and desires. She’d never been asked so many questions in her life. Favorite color, time of day, and animal preference. Was she nocturnal or more of a morning person? Thirty minutes into their walk, Jasper was comfortable and ready for the work to begin. “I don’t want black in here either,” Jasper said, standing in what would become her gaming room. “I want chill vibes but happy. This is where I’ll be spending the majority of my time, so I’m going for comfort. Relaxation, you know?” Dorthy nodded, scanning the space. “Muted shades of purple, blue, and indigo.” “Yes!” Jasper pointed at her and said, “Exactly. Blackout curtains and sexy art.” “What you mean by sexy?” Buck asked, arms crossed and booted foot propped just so on a ratty box. “Artistic nudes.” Jasper pinned her sights on the man and advanced. “Neons, paintings, and whatever else Dorthy can cook up. I love the female form.” Buck scoffed, chewing his cinnamon gum. “Guess you and me got somethin’ in common.” Jasper smirked, inches between them. She sighed and flicked his hat. Buck’s fixed attention called her bluff while his scent and soul tempted a starved succubus. He was thick on her tongue, sweet, smoky, and nutty. All things she didn’t need. As his gold fangs gleamed, Jasper shoved both hands into her pockets. She met his molten gaze. “I fear we have too much in common, Buck.” “I know exactly who to call,” Dorothy tapped on her phone and muttered. “No hologons. I’m thinking sconces. Straddling the hearth. Focal lighting will be perfect.” “Rugs,” Jasper announced, snatching free of his enchantment. She spun about and sauteed towards the exit. “I want fluffy rugs. No carpet. Just area rugs and shit.” “Perfect,” Dorthy piped from behind. “I’d love to keep the old personality of this home. Woods, sitting areas, and the sun room! What would you say to stained glass?” “Isn’t it colorful?” “Indeed.” Jasper stopped on the main level and shrugged. “Whatever you think is best, I’m down for, as long as we stick to no black. No stone. And natural light down here. I want cozy, not drafty, lived-in, not sterile. I wanna feel like I’m walking into my place of peace and happiness.” Dorthy beamed, nails clacking against her screen. “It’s been sooooo long since anyone has given me this much decorating freedom.” Jasper leafed through Dorthy’s portfolio, loving the work. Her home was in good hands. “I trust you, Dorthy.” Buck grumbled, and Jasper grimaced. “What the fuck? You’ve been doing this all day.” “You got enough, Dorthy?” Buck clipped. hands on his hips. He stared out the bay of windows and sniffed, clearly annoyed. “We gotta get going.” “More than enough, I’d say.” Dorthy extended her palm, and Jasper shook her delicate hand once again. “You are a dream client, Jasper. It will be my pleasure to bring your vision to life. If you’d like, feel free to e-mail me pictures, art, or decor that speaks to you.” “You’re going to get sick of me.” “Doubtful. The more you find, the easier my job will be.” Dorthy gathered her briefcase and purse before heading out. She cleared her throat, and Buck gave a stiff nod in return. Blood was cold and sour between them. Jasper was curious,s but it wasn’t her business. “Glad she’s gone.” Buck shook his head, watching the woman get in her car. “She cheated on my great-grandson.” “Ohhhhhhh.” “Mhm.” “It makes sense now.” “She ain’t no good, but what do I know?” “Why did you want her to help if—” “She’s still family and the mother of my grandkids. Two of whom are still in school.” Jasper wanted to speak on how his emotions faded from gray to blue to pink. He was proud and protective of his family. She found his unabashed display of love and how he wore it on his shoulder refreshing. “You adore your grandchildren.” “Every last one.” Buck cracked his gum and stomped for the door. “Let’s get on.” “Where are we off to now?” “To see your realtor.” Jasper winced and followed the man to his car. She thought he was joking until they pulled up to Hawke’s office ten minutes later. “You’re serious.” “As a god damn digger bear in spring.” “Oh shiiiiit.” Jasper hopped out of the vehicle and kept with Buck’s pace. “You think he knew about the state of my place?” “Yup.” Jasper’s face heated, and the base of her horns itched. Clenching her fist,s she bit her tongue. There was no need to barge into his business and start a scene. It wasn’t that big of a deal. She didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or— “You got three seconds to start talking!” Buck stormed into Hawke’s office and loomed. Jasper waited beside him, keeping her lips sealed. Hawke’s big yellow eye flung to her as he dropped his phone. “What uhm—what can I—uhm, what do you need Bucko?” Buck planted palms on Hawke’s desk and growled. Jasper’s breath hitched, and stomach caught fire. She flushed with heat and grinned as Hawke grew anxious. He was ripe with apprehension and fear. “He’s scared,” Jasper added. “What you scared for Hawke?” “I—I—what can I do for you, Ms. Marrow?” She scowled, ready to flay this man. “What can you do for me? How about you start by telling me why you let me buy that cursed fucking house?!” “Cursed?” Hawke showcased his sweaty palms and trembled. “I don’t know nothing about a curse. That house has been—” Buck leaped over the desk and landed in front of Hawke. He smacked the man’s ruddy cheek and kicked his chair into the file cabinet. “You fixin’ to lie to me, boy?” Buck hiked his chin. “I can smell them tall tales. Lie again and see where it gets you.” Hawke was a mess of fried nerves as he stammered. “Look, I don’t know who they were, but somebody left me a note!” “A note?” Jasper queried. Bile rose to the top and bubbled. Hawke nodded, glasses slipping down his nose. “Yeah. A note and ten thousand in cash. They told me to email you the listing directly.” “Shit.” She cursed, rubbing her forehead. Jasper knew damn well who gave him the note. “This can’t be happening. I thought it was a normal notification from another realtor site.” “It was, sort ot. I just sent it to you personally.” Buck situated the tip of his boot on the chair, between Hawke’s legs. The man blanched and stuttered. “Why was you looking to sell that haunted piece of shit anyway?” “It’s easy money!” Hawke squeaked, eyes glittering with a promise of tears. “People love flipping houses. They love a project, but they never stay there long. In the end, I still get paid and always have a listing. But I swear, Buck, I don’t know nothing about a curse. On my Mama’s life, I didn’t know.” It was important to note how humid the air surrounding Buck had become. Jasper sensed his roiling nature and tapped his shoulder. He shoved the chair, making Hawke yelp. “You will give Jasper that ten grand you got. Every fuckin’ dollar, you hear me?” “Every cent.” Oddities persisted as he sneered. She clocked them quickly. Thorns on the pads of fingertips, the vine-like tattoos twisted and slithered beneath thin cotton. Jasper’s interest piqued as the potted plant on Hawke’s desk wilted and died as Buck vacated the office. “You’re an asshole,” she asserted in passing. “And I want it by Friday.” He nodded, and she snapped her fingers, forcing the gentleman to take a nap. He wouldn’t even wake to piss. It was payback for being a creep. Jasper exited the establishment with confidence and unstable emotions. Buck leaned against his big old car and puffed on a pipe. It was quite the dignified sight. Where she came from, males who mattered smoked from pipes. They held themselves to a higher standard and dared not roll their own ashleaf. “Smells good,” she said. “What is it?” “My special batch. Dusts, powders, florals, magical minerals, and my wife’s hot honey.” Jasper folded arms atop the roof of his gorgeous ride and observed. “I’m sorry? Did you just say—” “I like how she settles at the back of my throat. The smoke brings out her flavor real good.” Buck’s easy, cool response and dominance disturbed her. Jasper should have been the one in control, taking the reins and telling Buck where to go. It was quite obvious he wasn’t her usual case. Claw clicking on metal, she observed. His attention wasn’t coy or playful. Smoke swirled and framed his ravishing, strong features. “What’s on your mind, Jasper?” Speaking to that would’ve been a dire mistake. One she was unwilling to make. “You’re disgusting.” Buck smirked. “I don’t wanna be nothing else.” “I’m sure.” Jasper huffed and opened her own door. After slamming it shut, she fought to steady her pangs. She was famished and craving as if she hadn’t nibbled on the man for hours. Undervell gods, be with her. Buck was dense and full-bodied. His desire ripe, dripping with want. She could appease, play him well, and satisfy without touching, but the intimacy of it all scared her. “Where are we going now?” She asked, voice rising above the loud, rumbling engine. “The store. We gonna do a little training and see if you got what it takes.” “For what?” “To run shit. We need somebody who does well under pressure. Someone who can provide excellent feedback and communication, service when time calls for it.” Buck’s eyes drifted from the road to Jasper. He held firm and switched gears. The air was taut and humid. Jasper would not be swayed or pushed. “We talking customer service or something else?” His smile and smoke lingered. Jasper liked every base note. Cherry, vetiver, and something unique. She snickered, knowing the undercut’s source. One thing about Buck Sunside, he cherished and adored his wife. This important detail, among others, rs made him the sexiest man she’d ever met. “Thank you.” “For?” Bucked asked, annoyed. “Helping with Hawke. I didn’t think it was actually this bad, but—” Thinking about Trevor left her flushed and cold. “You didn’t have to, but you did.” “Funny how you think coming to your defense was a choice. As a grown man with status, means, and might, it is my duty and honor to help those who are unable. Not that you aren’t capable, Jasper. “It’s just, I know succubi intimately, and you, darlin’, are warm-hearted. Strange. Unlike your sisters in many ways. Hawke preyed on your goodness. That old bird is, in fact, a vulture shifter who can’t wait for some easy pickings. I ain’t gon stand for it.” His conviction and potent lust worked against her. Jasper didn’t want this man or any other. This was the fallacy she’d repeated to herself daily. It was to keep her afloat. The hunger in his eyes was more than she could bear. Jasper set her gaze beyond the window and decided on silence. If Jasper dared to speak another word, she’d make Buck pull the car over and bury himself between her clamped thighs.
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.
“Oh, blithe tiddies!” Kit slammed the oven door shut and huffed. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” “Everything, quite possibly,” Julep murmured from his post on the windowsill. His tail flicked and curled with indignation. “You’re a decent cook, my good friend, but you are no baker.” “I completed the steps. I heeded Maggie’s instruction word for word. The cake won’t rise!” Kit garbled and stomped as he read the directions for the hundredth time. “Butter, egg, oil, whisk, sift, and—ohhhh, dear. I’ve forgotten the baking soda. And the vanilla.” “No baker at all,” Julep quipped. “Hush, you! If it weren’t for Jasper, I’d have thrown you out.” “Don’t get pissy with me, old man. I am capable of making my own decisions.” “You, are a liar my boy and quite irresponsible. And this is why you were trapped in the chicken coop with angry hens. I told you—” Julep jumped down and padded to his water bowl. “So dramatic! Kit, really. It’s not that serious.” Kit cackled and slashed a hand. “Look at you! Bald spots, demon! You’ve got an eye patch for Undervell’s sake.” Julep ignored him and lapped quietly. “You could have died, sir.” “But I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never felt more alive.” Kit sighed as Julep leaped onto the counter and sat. “It reminded me of the old days when we chased kettle duns all cycle and ate sugared bugs. Besides, what else am I to do here?” Kit patted Julep’s head and gave him a good scratch, minding the reddened, sore patches of skin. “You have to be more careful, demon cat. I’d rather not lose my best friend.” “Off with you, that’s enough.” Julep hissed and popped Kit’s hand with soft toe beans. “I know you worry, but I’m fine. Promise. I’ve found my calling.” “Hunting chickens?” “And various other rodents. There is a large forest just beyond.” Julep turned his attention to the window, yellow eyes now saucers. His purr was curious and adorable. “It’s a fascinating place, Kit. Truly. You should come with me one day.” “I will never step foot into that verdant wasteland.” Julep rolled his neck and eyes back around, pinning his fierce gaze upon Kit. “Pussy.” “Ha! Funny coming from a cat.” Julep hissed and swiped claws. Kit stumbled and shoved Julep off of the counter. “Go! Get out of here. And stay off my countertops. Disgusting retch.” Julep zoomed around the corner, scaled the wall, and screeched at Jasper as she passed. “Oh, fuck! Would you—“ She ducked and growled at the feisty demonic feline. ”Freak!” Julep detached and flipped onto the floor. He scrambled for purchase and dashed through the small flap door. “I hated him as a full-bodied demon, but I think I hate him more now. He’s a menace.” “Well, you opted to keep him yesterday.” Kit considered his little sister’s state of dress and sighed. “What are we going to do with you?” “With who?” “You.” “I’m perfectly fine, and what is that smell?” “Shiiiiiit!” Kit whirled and wrenched open the oven door. Yelling expletives, he grabbed both pans and dropped them on the counter. “My poor cakes.” Jasper barked in laughter and plucked herself a mug. Kit failed to see what was so hilarious. His time and efforts had been wasted. “They’re flat as ever,” he said, poking the charred disk. “I forgot an ingredient.” “An important one, apparently.” Kit grunted, gathered his failings, and marched to the trash bin. “Bumble today, succeed tomorrow.” He dropped everything into the trash and wiped hands on his apron. “You didn’t have to throw away the pans.” “We’ll purchase another set.” “We?” Kit flapped a hand and stored his brand-new stand mixer in the cupboard. “Jasper, you have been in the house for two whole cycles and appear to be forlorn. What’s happened?” “Nothing.” Her tone and mumble told Kit one thing: his sister was lying. She stirred sugar into her tea and sighed. He couldn’t help but offer some form of comfort. Their father had always said it was a flaw, caring too much. He’d peer down at Kit and rumble, ‘A general with compassion is a dead one’. “Jasper, you tell me who to maim or kill, and I will get it done.” Kit stood next to his closest sibling and prepared his own cup. The tea here was sublime, and he wanted to know the distributor, but there was nothing on the sachet’s ornate box. As he poured hot water from the electric kettle, Jasper chuckled. “Thank you, brother. But, this is nothing we can fight.” He assessed her distant gaze, wondering who had claimed Jasper’s thoughts. “I’m a coward, is all.” “Hardly.” “What?” “You left home, Jasper.” Kit’s guts rolled as he was reminded of his mission. He chose a bright citrus tea and dropped it into the steaming pool. “It is strictly forbidden. You were due to meet your tether, and you vanished. You didn’t give a damn about father or his disappointment. You are far from cowardly.” She snickered, resting her chin atop Kit’s head. He wanted to shrink away, steer clear of such affections, but it was pleasant. Her closeness warmed his chest. “Thank you, Kit.” “What exactly have I done?” “For always being in my corner.” She kissed his itchy, growing horns and battled an urge to smile. “I love you, Kitters.” The demon grunted and cleared his throat, face hotter than Undervell’s springs. Physical touch was one thing; he could handle that, sometimes. Words, on the other hand…he’d never been one for them, mainly because Carriont told him generals carried war in their hearts, not love. Kit gritted his teeth and huffed. “Well, maybe he was wrong.” “Hmm?” “I—you.” Kit stirred honey and cherry wood ash into his tea. He flushed, a wetness coating his upper lip. “Love.” Jasper erupted in ominous laughter and gave him a bit of space. “Awww, look at you. Unlearning and shit. This is called growth, bruh.” “Growth?” Kit frowned and sipped his first afternoon cup. He pivoted, faced his kin, and leaned against the counter. “Whatever do you mean?” Jasper lifted her mug and sighed aloud. “There’s a lot of garbage our Dad taught us. Certain behaviors don’t work up here. And others are welcome. Like, softness, playfulness, silliness, foolery, and love.” Kit digested her commentary for a tick and enjoyed what was becoming his favorite blend. He’d seen quite a lot over the last few cycles or days, and perhaps Jasper was right. “Kit,” she called, forcing him to meet her pit flame stare, “you can be who you want up here. Start fresh, man. Chase that chef dream or become a deputy. You seemed pretty excited about your outing with Jo.” “It was thrilling,” Kit said, his blood buzzing at the thought. “But, I like the chef idea more, only, well…I never intended on staying, Jasper.” “You could if you wanted to.” She shrugged and tipped her mug. “In fact, I’m putting a room together just for you.” “For me?” “Yup. You can decorate it however you want. After everything is done, of course.” He smiled now, cheeks heated. That warmth in his chest expanded only to dim. “I can’t stay. This is only respite. Soon I’ll have to get back and fulfill my duties.” “You mean father’s duties.” Silence between them stretched as Jasper’s sad smile gave him nothing to work with. Kit couldn’t stay, he was here for one reason, and if he didn’t go through with it, Carriont would surely expel him. “Jasper, there’s something you ought to know. The—“ A thunderous knocking interrupted his confession. “What in the Undervell?” Kit set his cup on the table and saw to the person ten seconds from kicking the door in. The moment Kit touched the handle, he knew who it was. He scented him instantly and wanted to stuff embers up his nose. “It’s you,” Kit intoned, staring at an agitated vampire. Hank’s eye twitched, and his jaw ticked as he tapped a booted foot. “What can I do—“ “I told ya’ didn’t I?” “Told me what?” “To stay the hell outta my coops.” “I did.” “Your fucking cat kicked up a fuss and spooked them gals! If it ain’t you stealing my damn eggs, it’s your ugly ass rat tryna kill my chickens.” “I’d like to apologize for Julep’s behavior, but you are being incredibly rude. There is no need to shout.” “Like hell it ain’t. You got no idea what it takes to raise them up and keep shit goin’. Royal boy.” “You’ve got one more time to call me boy,” Kit hissed, confused by his anger and arousal. “I will show you what makes a man!” “Hayyyy hay.” Jasper sidled up beside Kit and smiled. “Stop, chill bruh. It’s—Hank, right?” “Yeah, mhm.” “You gotta understand, he can’t control that cat. Julep is cursed.” Hank squinted. “Cursed?” “He’s a demon that accidentally possessed a cat, and somehow he got stuck like that. He’s a ruffian and a pain in the ass.” Kit crossed his arms and kicked up his chin. “He won’t listen to me. I am not his owner, per se. We’re chamber mates.” “Roommates?” Hank asked. “Yes.” “He’s going to kill me for this,” Kit mumbled, “But Julep is terrified of… cotton balls.” “Whatchu mean?” “He’s scared of cotton balls. Line the coop with them, and he’ll stay out. I can’t say what will come of the wild ones, but I shall do my best with talking to him.” “Do more than talk to the lil shit. Control him or I will.” “No need for threats,” Kit snipped. “My ass!” Hank snarled and stomped across the porch. His bergamot-spiced scent lingered like fine mist. Kit inhaled and hated the tightening knot at the bottom of his belly. “He is a foul-mannered son of a wench.” Jasper closed the door and snickered. “Someday y’all are gonna go at it.” “If he intends on being a complete ass, then yes, it is inevitable.” His sister grabbed her cup and shuffled on down the hall. “If you need me, I’ll be in my cave.” “How about we take a walk or—“ “No, thank you!” A door slam made him laugh. At least he was free to bake to his heart’s content without being bothered. That was, unless Hank or Jo came snooping about. Kit hummed and grinned, hating very much how captor hogs rolled in his guts at the confounding thought.
Jasper couldn’t stand how cooped up she’d been for two whole days. Cowardice had sent her running for the hills. “How embarrassing.” She snarled at the humiliating memory. A seasoned, well-adjusted succubus hiding away from some pussy. It was distasteful how quickly she’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched, savored. Nieema’s scent and satin had stained her wakeful dreams. Jasper spent the last forty-eight playing games and eating her favorite foods. She wasted time with crafts and had even finished Nieema’s commission. It was a gorgeous piece, and Jasper was ready for another. The only way to get that was by talking to Mrs. Sunside. She groaned and flopped on the bed. Phone in hand, she checked her bank account and grimaced. Kit’s spending habit was a problem; he’d been picking at her last few dollars for a week. Grocers and odd-ends he just had to have. “Shit.” As much as she didn’t want to, Jasper had to get out of bed and the house. She needed the little job the Sunsides’ offered like yesterday. A streaming session or a few feet pics usually helped ends meet. Jasper shook her head, still not ready to face the public or her loyal fan base. As she rose, her phone vibrated. Checking the notif, she grinned despite fried nerves. Buck’s relentless efforts were impressive, much like his stature. Though this wasn’t a personal matter, Jasper’s heart thrummed at the idea of seeing him. Thick masculine energies would do a body good. It’d steel her softening spine and resolve. A sliver of his soul, a sip of heady desire, was exactly what Jasper wanted. In a petty mood, she hit him back quick. Miss me already Mr. Sunside? She watched the dots until his reply made her laugh. You’d be in my bed if I did. “Yeah, okay.” She scoffed and blasted him a final text. Self-assurance has an expiry date, Buck. But sure, I’ll meet with the decorator. What time? Jasper marched into the bathroom, eyes on their conversation. How about now? “God damn,” she barked, looking at her ragged reflection. Bonnet and bags. “Uhhhhm.” Give me twenty minutes. Jasper set her phone on the counter and started the shower. She snatched her gown off as the screen illuminated. Add ten more minutes. Beauty takes time, woman. Don’t be rushing on my account. An ugly snort escaped, and with it, Jasper stepped into the stall. Forty-five minutes later, she was fully dressed. Having an androgynous day, Jasper slipped on a pair of slacks and a silk blouse the color of a summer-ripened plum. Gold accents glittered on her wrist, neck, and loafers. After an assessment, she snatched her phone and wallet. On the way out, she bid her brother farewell. He was in a mood over those damn muffins and vowed to have a batch ready by the time she got home. Dusk had settled over Indigo Plains. Painting it in various shades of orange, red, and goldenrod. The lazy sun set Buck ablaze. Leaning all that body against his car, he was quite the sight. Brawny in his usual. T-shirt, jeans, shiny buckle, and silver-capped boots. Cool red tones kicked up a fuss, causing Jasper to stare on her approach. Buck tipped his hat and grinned. “Hot damn, you look city ready. Slick and classy. Should I have changed for this outing, Jasper?” “It’s been a minute since I felt so pretty. Figured, why not?” Buck lifted his strong chin, jaw ticking. Their stares clashed as his scent billowed and dark soul flushed bruised maroon. His deepening desire was conspicuous in nature. Buck never tried to hide it, but she appreciated how he ignored its calling. Their attraction was palpable and taut, but Jasper could go no further with this. Not with where her head was at the moment. “I don’t wanna be too forward, but you always pretty, Jasper. Don’t matter who says what. It doesn’t make you any less gorgeous.” He didn’t offer her the floor, and she didn’t want to strike up a debate about her looks. Buck opened her door with a wink. Jasper smirked and slid into the butter-soft seat. Sweet, smoky pine, and natural. His organic cologne battered her sensibilities. It was strong and masculine. Just what she needed. Every second she spent in his company, she sipped. Slowly, she inhaled, nibbled, and dined. “So, uhm, what’s this decorator got planned?” “The basics. Swatches, your vision, wood types, and knobs. Boring type shit and…” Buck kept both eyes on the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel. She loved how the other gripped the clutch. Cords and veins created a work of art. From fingers to the crook of his elbow. They wrapped elegantly around his forearm and danced between ink like thick vines. “Jasper.” Her name rumbled and rolled like sweet syrup off his tongue. It tasted good with the hint of his smoky desire. It rippled in the crackling space between them and swelled. “What can I do for you, Buck?” She’d inched closer, arm behind his head. Casual and relaxed, Jasper peeped the mysterious driver. He was loaded and packed with dark energy; it was enough to rock her loose right here in the front seat. Foul how he affected her. Egregious, really. She wanted to both flee and flay the man who smiled. His dimples disgusted her. “Maybe I should be asking you that question.” “I’m good.” “You say such things, but we know what time it is, succubus.” “Drive and shut your mouth.” Buck chuckled, deep bellied and maniacal. She loathed the visceral reaction it caused. He stirred the slick potion, dampening her slacks. He killed the engine and hopped out. Jasper peered out the window and scoffed. They’d arrived at a physical representation of despair. Her sickly home looked no better beneath the dimming sun. Grumbling, Jasper emerged from the vehicle and hiked up her pants. She grunted at the fucked veranda thingy and porch. “Hellooooo there.” The sing song voice belonged to a willowy, copper curled beauty with shimmering freckles and crimson wings. The gauzy set fluttered as she offered a hand. “My name is Dorthy.” “Jasper.” “Great to meet you, Jasper. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m the yammering sort. We interior designers have so much to relay and discuss. I don’t want to overwhelm you with information or—“ “You doing it,” Buck murmured. Dorthy’s left eye twitched along with her wing. Jasper plucked at the frayed strings binding them together. On Buck’s end, they were weak and angry. “You agreed to stay on that side while I conduct business with Jasper. Let’s not drag family affairs into this.” “Unprofessional. I ain’t say shit about that,” Buck grumped, hands on his hips. He surveyed the neighborhood and chewed his cinnamon gum. “Get to it then, Dorthy. Shit.” The decorator brightened, manufactured smile touching her tapered ears. “Anyway, shall we?” “How are we supposed to get in there?” “’Round back,” Buck said, leading the way. “Watch the spider, though. I planned on clearing it out today.” “Wicker spiders.” Dorthy shuddered. “They live underground, mostly. Not too big on people or the moon. I find it hard to believe they attacked you.” “Excuse me, hay there.” A familiar voice halted their journey. “Well, look who it is.” Sissy Perkins glared more than smiled. Her displeasure obvious and sharp. She smelled of deceit and decay. “Good to see you, Jasper. Say, I was wondering if the dish was clean. It’s vintage. My mother’s and her mother’s. Practically a family heirloom. It’d be a shame if I never got it back.” Jasper’s brows grazed the sky as she finally smiled. It was unpleasant, surly. A show of fang and uncapped horns gave Sissy pause. The old woman sniffed, inching backwards. “I’ll get it, don’t you worry, Sissy!” “Thank you, that’d be terrific.” Jasper clocked the annoying yoga instructor or pilates doll man across the street. He conversed with a middle aged human wearing a god damn tunic. Grunting, Jasper spun on her heels and followed Buck to the back porch. Getting there wouldn’t be easy, thanks to tall grass, thorns, and feisty burrowing creatures. Jasper was prepared for war and was about to pop off cuff links until Buck cleared a path. Blades of grass, brindle, and dry brush withered, dying beneath his soles. With each step, Buck crafted a path made of moss and leaves. It was an impressive, magical display. His abilities emboldened her curiosity. Jasper had more than twenty questions, but stashed them in her back pocket for later. After she talked to this lady about her color options.
After being interrupted in the weirdest way possible, AB spent the next few hours resorting and stacking. Without added speed, it gave him something to do. After which, he went through everything on Tracy’s slooooooow as hell 2006 Gateway PC. XP, not even Vista. It was simpler without OneDrive, Dropbox, or Drive. Quicker too. Anndddd ohhhhh, boy, the info one gathered. Maxine Bernice Bissette did, in fact, own Ink in Hell. Daddy supplied funds, however, as he did with everything else. The Wrangler out front, a shared phone bill, and Maxine’s monthly allowance. She had nothing of her own. AB dug in his pocket and pulled out a cherry Jolly Rancher. He unwrapped the hard candy and tossed it back. There was no reason to be a hundred years old and not have something going for yourself if you had means. At first glance, this woman had every opportunity to be independent. Why wasn’t she self-reliant? A woman who couldn’t take care of herself was unattractive. Personally, AB hated those who didn’t have a pot to piss in or two pennies. Much more, he couldn’t stand the ones who’d depend on him every waking moment. Being broke was not cute, baby. Sure, okay, she owned-ran the shop. But how much did it earn? Not enough. Not in Miami, and not for a spoiled female who lived comfortably with daddy her whole life. “A damn shame.” Sucking on his brand of crack cocaine, AB clocked the time. 2am. Roughly five hours of work. “Not bad at all.” Accounting was something AB liked quite a bit. He loved numbers and boring, monotonous work. Hell, why not? Living was boring, so why not find a career just as tedious? With this job, AB enjoyed the freedom. Having no boss and long hours, if he wanted them. It was more of a hobby than a profession at this point. AB dragged ass going through the paperwork and shit because he enjoyed it. Knocking around the candy in his mouth, he shot to his feet and tidied himself. Cuff links, vest, and lastly, his suit jacket. He willed the light off and promised to return. There were two tubs left and however many boxes. On his way out, he closed the door and hoped Tracy was near. AB had a question or two, nothing big. Just a few discrepancies here and there. Passing Maxine’s room, he sniffed and growled. She smelled amazing. Fresh gardenias and fucking Shalamar. Classic and clean. Then again, she was a poor commoner, a female who’d demand a band and diamonds just for breathing. He shuddered and stalked into the formal living, whereupon he sat on the sofa. Perusing Tracy’s home was boorish. Someone would come along, with lights blaring and the precious aroma of grilled meat piquing his interest. Maybe he had some ramen at home, or Ricearoni. Biting down on hardened corn syrup, he watched as two stooges came laughing through the front door. What was up with her and those glasses? Everywhere? God damn it, she had a lazy eye. For sure, something like that. Had to be, maybe a visual impairment of some sort. A subtle limp too, that wa—her thighs were throwing him off, but her not boyfriend stared. “Why you just sitting there?” he asked. “I’m waiting for Tracy.” “My dad is out back,” she laughed, “oh my god…” Biting her bottom lip, she shrugged. “Ya’ll are really high,” AB noted. “Nah, I’m coo’. Shorty trippin’ though.” Low lied, his brilliant stormy gray stare shone through slits. “I ain’t even got my half, muh’fucka’.” “Your what?” Low recoiled and made a dismissive noise. “Nothing, college boy. You don’t know nothing ’bout this shit. Aye, for real, your hair is fucking me up. It’s like a red light, hella abrasive and bright.” AB snapped his cuffs and thought to count from one to ten. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to lash out in this man’s home. “That cookie was too big, Low… Dammmmn.” “You lyin’, they made it with that whack ass Miami Heat.” Low chuckled and threw an arm over Maxine’s shoulder. “Shit was booboo.” “Miami heat? The basketball team?” AB asked. They exploded in laughter once again. “The basket—man, hell nah,” Low bellowed. “Mind the business that pays.” AB cracked his neck and sneered at a male way in over his head. A twenty-thousand-dollar suit and kind eyes fooled a lot of people. But Low knew what kinda man he was dealing with; he didn’t seem so dumb. “You’ll get real tired of fuckin’ with me. I promise you that.” Maxine rolled her neck. “Ooooo.” She snorted. “Anyway, where the steak at?” “Ah, Jaxon.” Tracy arrived, saving the day, but Low made an odd choking noise. “You’ve finished?” AB smiled and stood. “Yes, for tonight, of course. I’ll be back Monday bright and early at nine thirty.” “Splendid. Say, are you hungry?” He nearly refused but Jaya wouldn’t have it. “Come on, Jaxon, you can’t turn down the T-Bone. Low is a master on the grill.” “I am. When it come to the meat, I tear—” Maxine elbowed him. “I’d love to, but I—” “Love it so much, then eat it,” Maxine said. “Let’s not do this again,” Tracy said, eying her. “You know what,” Ab interjected, checking the Audemars. “I have some time.” The male clapped once in celebration. “Perfect, it’s such a lovely night. Shall we?” Everyone sauntered outside and AB was dead last. ‘Cause weeelll, ass was ass, and it wasn’t slim pickings up in this bitch. “What a fine entertainment set up you have here, Tracy.” Sitting at a long patio table tucked under a cedar pergola, AB was actually impressed. He noted bottles of wine, bread, and various sides. Potent spices, mesquite, and peppers scented the humid night air. They had ample lighting and smooth jazz; it was a nice touch. Everything dinner guests needed, with a built-in TV, full-sized grilling area, and room for twelve. “Thank you so much.” Tracy grinned, admiring his well-tended backyard. “Interior design is a hobby of mine.” AB placed his bag in the chair next to him and said, “If that’s the case, then I think you should start taking clients and build a portfolio.” “Oh no.” He waved a hand. “Pipe dreams earn no living.” “Pipe dreams can and will earn a living if you’re passionate enough,” AB replied, removing his jacket for the second time. Maxine nodded. “Word.” She sat opposite him and giggled her ass off. “That’s right, Dad. Passion breeds success.” “I don’t think that’s it.” Low added, but Maxine rolled her eyes. “Shut up!” “Use your inside voice, Maxine. For God’s sake. We have company. Mind yourself, girl.” Jesus, Tracy was a nightmare. No wonder she used her body as a canvas. Rebellion appeared in many forms, and he bet money her pops hated tattoos. “Sorry, Father,” she amended, adding bass to her voice. “Meat coming right up!” Low shouted from behind Max. He glanced at AB. “Hope it ain’t too sweet.” “You’ve never made it sweet, Elliot.” Jaya was minding her own quiet business. On the phone and smiling about something. “How long have you worked for Tracy, Jaya?” AB asked, stirring a bit of conversation. “If you don’t mind.” She looked at Tracy and didn’t speak until he nodded. “Since nineteen-twenty-one.” “That is a long time.” So Max had been waited on hand and foot since birth. A nanny. Jaya was Max’s nursemaid, what the fuck. He kept a bout of hysterical laughter to himself. “It is, but I think of them as my family.” She shrugged and beamed. “They are my family.” “Awwwwww. I love you, Jaya.” “I love you too, Maxi.” “Dear god.” Tracy’s disgust shone on his tight features. “What is that smell?” Jaya’s attention cut to Max. “Yes.” AB grimaced. “What is it, a skunk?” “Nah, it ain’t that,” Low murmured, handling the steak platter. They smelled hella good, too. “It ain’t that stank.” Max and Jaya snorted, but AB missed the joke. “Well, it’s strong whatever it is.” The man smirked, showcasing a mouth full of golds. Even his fangs gleamed. “I’ve come in contact with more pungent aromas. This one is subtle, but it almost stinks.” “Elliot, what are you going on about, man?” Tracy looked up at him while a slab was dropped on his plate. “The smell, Tracy.” “Oh yes, I may have to call pest control.” Max giggled and went for the bread. “What is this? Sourdough, yeessss. I love bread. Mostly cause you can put butter on it.” A 24-ounce T-bone was dropped on AB’s plate; juice splattered. He gaped, staring at his vest. A six-thousand-dollar Taupe Kiton vest, which he had waited two weeks to have tailored, was now stained. This motha fucka had a death wish. “I’m so sorry,” Low intoned. “I didn’t know it was finna hit like that.” “Elliot, that was quite rude.” AB chuckled, unwrapped his utensils, and snapped the dinner napkin. “It’s A-okay.” Glaring at the male, AB smiled. “Accidents happen.” Low sniffed and moved on. “Are you sure?” Jaya asked. “I can get some club soda.” “Oh Jaya, I fear that’s Vicuña.” The pity on Tracy’s face spoke of a man who understood AB’s pain. “Club soda would compromise the material. I hope it comes out in the dry cleaning.” “I’m sure it will,” AB said in a delighted tone to shield broiling anger. “What do we—” “You don’t want no sides?” Low nitpicked as he sat next to his not girlfriend. Who mind you, was an inch away from turning her steak into a pillow. “No, I’ll take bread, that’s enough for me. Tracy, are you not hungry?” “He’s vegan.” AB winced at the unexpected, curve-ball response. What terrible vampire etiquette. “Is that right?” “Yes,” Tracy said. “The environment is being attacked. And we will be here long after the human waste reaches their expiry date. If we don’t do something, we will be left with nothing.” “What are we gonna do when they die?” Max asked, as it seemed she’d come to. “That is too morbid a subject, Maxine.” Her father’s words were terse as he cut into a… tofu, cauliflower, bean… steak, thing. What the fuck did vegans eat? “Such discourse is not fit for a gathering of this nature. So, Jaxon, are you from Miami? Well, you know.” “Uh, do you mind?” He pointed at a tempting bottle of Cabernet. “Oh no, of course.” AB gripped the neck, poured a decent drop, and loved how it’d been aired beforehand. Tracy was a man of class and culture. “No. No, I am not from Florida. I moved here about eight years ago. I was born in Ireland, moved to London, and then to the States. I’ve been here siiiiince… seventeen-ninety-five.” “Before its inception?” “Yeah, my mother and I hopped a Spanish vessel and wound up in Cali. But she lives in London now.” “Californiaaaaa?” Max sat amazed, and it offered AB more insight. Bet his left nut she’d never been out of state. “Yes, it was a long time ago.” Slicing into a superb slab of beef, he changed topics quick as hell. “Tracy, you’ve been a busy bee.” “Indeed, I’ve acquired a lot over my lifetime.” With an immaculate sliver of beef on the fork, he shoved it between his lips, annnnnnd, heaven sent. Damn it, Low made a mean steak. Succulent, with a glorious char and rare. Rosemary, garlic, onion, cayenne, mesquite, applewood, not charcoal, and sweet cream butter. “Although you ruined my vest, I must hand it to you. This is a phenomenal steak. It’s top tier.” Low smiled lazily and lifted his glass. “I’m something like a chef.” “He is,” Tracy agreed. “Maxine!” Her head popped up. “Huh? I don’t like Neapolitan ice cream.” AB chuckled at her… what did the kids call it? State of inebriation. Low thought it was funny, too, but he wasn’t doing any better. “Are you tired?” Tracy prodded. “Yeah, bruh.” “Don’t bruuuuh me, young lady.” She only laughed. “Steak! Yesss.” “As I was saying, Tracy, you’ve dabbled in a fair share of real estate.” He nodded but shrugged it off. “I have. I flip houses.” Tracy was a liar. “Ohhh, that explains it. Makes sense.” It did not. And AB had every intention of digging deeper, ‘til he got to the nasty, bitter core. Then he’d make Mr. Bissette an offer he’d dare not refuse. For now, AB would accept the fallacy and enjoy his fabulous meal. In the end, he had two cuts while they sat outside and conversed. The weather, TV shows, and stupid shit people talked about. AB made certain not to speak on personal matters. He didn’t know them, and putting your business in the street had the capacity to bite you in the ass. So, he kept it nice and easy, even through the hummingbird cake and a bubbly dessert wine. But as with all things, their fun came to an end. AB had had enough small talk for one night. “Wow, you all sure know how to party.” “This wasn’t no party…” Max giggled and had a good five minutes left in her. The nodding worsened by the minute. “Oh, you’re an accountant. Meehhhh, boring personality, bruh.” Tracy clapped his hands. “That’s enough from you, uh… Elliot, will you escort my daughter to her room? She is out of sorts.” “My pleasure.” AB bit down on a raunchy comment resting on his tongue. “I really love your hair,” Max said, allowing Low to manhandle her. “Thank you.” “It’s like, blazing.” “Elliot.” “Yup.” He hefted Max bride style and sprinted away. “I do apologize for my—” “Don’t do that, Tracy,” Jaya snipped. “I swear you want Max to hate you.” This was a deep convo not suited for guests. Tracy’s head fell as he sighed. “I have enjoyed your company, Jaxon.” “You as well.” On his feet, AB grabbed both the Bottega and his jacket. “I am stuffed, and Jaya, the cake was divine.” She blushed. “Thank you, but I didn’t make that. Max did, she’s a baker.” His brows arched. “Oh, okay.” The woman had a way with flour and sugar. That confection was moist as fuck. “Please do tell her I loved it.” “I will.” AB left the pair on their own and showed himself out. Halfway to his car, he stopped to admire the Monte Carlo. A sweet, sexy thing she was. He liked how the engine purred, too. Classy. “You wanna test drive?” Low emerged from the shadows, like AB couldn’t see or sense another vampire’s presence. The tip of a blunt glowed briefly as he advanced. “I’ll let you ride it. Ride in it, I mean.” “You’re terrible at come-ons.” AB sniffed and shrugged. “Who uses Swishers anymore?” “I do, damn. I was outta woods. Stay out Black folks business. You look like the dispensary type. Legal trash. What you smoke? Bongs and vaporizers? Typical white boy shit.” AB snarled. “You talk a lot.” “I know. It’s part of my charm, bruh.” “Your charm?” He scoffed and flicked a hand. “I’m this way. Have a good night.” “Let me know if you want that test drive.” AB opened his car door while Low tact on bullshit. “Prolly can’t handle it, though.” He stopped short of getting in and faced the verbose male. “I’d advise you to ease up while you’re ahead.” AB zoned in on his ass and sneered. “This ain’t what you want, trust me.” Low laughed, expelling a pillow of smoke and said, “Ain’t? Look at you, so cute. I ain’t trippin’, Red. You too tight in the ass for me anyway. I like my men pensive. But believe you me, I done made more than one alpha turn coy.” Low discarded the blunt and added, “I’ll be sure to tell Max you an accountant annnd pussy.” Unbelievable. If the male hadn’t vanished, Jaxon would have yolked his ass up. Try to kill him, probably. “Ohhhhhh, my god. I need a drink.”
. I hope yall are ready for quite the ride going forward. READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS AND LEARN ‘EM. I’m not joking. Please take care if dark romance isn’t your thing; feel free to skip certain chapters. These don’t happen in the same chapter or the next, but they are coming, and quickly. Also, I don’t know why I said mild gore because nah, there is quite a bit. For me, it’s mild, but for others, it might be too much. As always, thank you so much for reading, I hope you have a wonderful week.
“Break, break, me open with your all-seeing eye. Crunch, crunch. My bones. Bite me down to the, the, the core.” AB hissed and clapped his hands. “That’s heat. It’s my best yet.” He never considered himself a Huges type, but shit, he was close—something like him for sure. Langston would probably have nothing negative to say. Feedback from the poets’ group chat was all positive. “Now for a title.” He ruminated for a second. “Fiery cry.” AB saved the document as Brittany interrupted, her voice singing through the intercom. “Mr. Aubrey, a gentleman would like to speak with you, but he doesn’t have an appointment.” AB swiped his tablet, tapped on the calendar, and scrolled. He had forty minutes to spare before the next appointment. “Alright, I’ve got time. Bring him in.” “Yes, sir.” “Mmmhhm.” He loved that, sir shit, it never got old. Especially when she uttered the words. Brit was a vivacious sixty-year-old halfbreed with a pert ass and soft lips. “Buuuuut that’s totally unprofessional, bro.” AB cleared his desk of candy wrappers and Coke cans. He pushed everything over the side and into a tiny trash bin near his desk. With practiced ease, he opened the drawer, retrieved a mirror, and checked for imperfections. “Not a speck.” A small knock alerted him to their arrival. He stashed the looking glass, jumped to it, and buttoned his Dior vest. Britney appeared first and held the door. A male of decent stature sauntered in, confident and friendly. Shoes, Chanel. Rolex. A gold signet ring of some sort. Fresh line and a tailored goatee. AB smelled greenbacks as they shook hands. “Hello, I’m Jaxon Aubrey.” “Tracy Bisset,” the male said, releasing his strong grip. “I apologize, it’s uncommon for me to show up without an appointment, but I am in quite a bind.” “Oh no, I take walk-ins. Have a seat, and we can talk. Britney, get our friend here some refreshments.” “Yes, sir.” She smiled and walked her fine ass out as AB marched behind his long desk, cut from the finest of pine. “You have a magnificent office.” Mr. Bisset spared a moment to examine the expansive space before taking a load off across from him. “Quite welcoming.” “Thank you.” He appreciated small talk, but time was money. “I take decor very seriously, seeing as I spend most of my time here. Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Bissette?” Tracy crossed his legs and frowned. “I would like to retain your services.” Those words gave AB a back rub with baby oil; however, Tracy here needed to be informed. AB wasn’t trying to swindle a paying customer. Yet. “Is this a referral?” “Yes.” “Great, can you tell me who, so I can give them a discount?” “Oh yes, uhm Stan—” “Connors, Stan Connors, ohhhh yeah.” Jaxon nodded and wondered where Britney was with the perishables. “He’s a regular client. Are you two friends? Not to assu-” “Acquaintance. I run a construction firm, and he’s also one of my clients.” Hallelujah. “I asked several colleagues for advice, and you were named three times. I was given human recommendations as well, but I…” Tracy cleared his throat and corrected an immaculate silk knot at his throat. “I’d rather not fraternize with the horde.” “Ah, understandable. Okay, well, I can and will help you after you look over my portfolio.” “I’ve done that already.” “Excellent.” Leaning forward, Jaxon linked fingers atop his blotter and smiled. “First, I will need a compiled checklist of what it is you require of me and a three-thousand-dollar retainer. After which, my rate is 110 dollars per hour.” “Done.” What a gorgeous mix of letters. He might just come in his slacks. “Beauuuutiful.” AB reached and snapped a matte black premium embossed business card. “Take this, and call me when you have what I need. My fax and email are listed as well. Send it however you like.” Jaxon rose, offering his palm once more. “I can’t wait to do business.” “I’ll call you in a day or two.” “Terrific.” Wearing a warm smile, he escorted Mr. Bisset out of his office, watched him leave, and looked down at his doe-eyed secretary. “What happened to the water and cookies?” She gasped. “Oh my god, I forgot. I was sorting brochures.” “Wow. You know…” Towering, he stared at the woman, AB inhaled her precious perfume in a greedy gulp. She smelled like cherries and a simple syrup, batting her long, thick lashes. Peering into her big eyes, he remembered Brit was an employee. Saying what he wanted was grounds for a lawsuit. So AB stuffed hands in his pockets and sighed. “It’d be great if next time, you could remember.” “I will, I swear.” The cutie bit her bottom lip. On that note, AB went about his business. “When our twelve o’clock shows, send them right in. I wanna breeze through tonight.” “Got it.” Rushing into his ‘welcoming’ office, AB grunted at the thought of what was to come. He didn’t want to work tonight, oddly enough. At least, not as an accountant. But work was work. Thanks to an impending dreary summer, he only had five hours on the clock. Though short and sweet became long and grueling, fast. Especially with perusers and clients who had other, more pertinent issues. AB worked out of his office mostly, but traveled often. Minutes ticked by, and the twelve left, then two arrived. She was a sassy silver-haired familiar who wanted a free ride; he might oblige after checking her books. By the time AB stashed his laptop and tablet in a 1976 Bottega, it was 3 am, and he was done. Numbers were so much fun, but a bastard needed unwinding. Willing lights off, he and the bag marched out with the key Fob in hand. Britney vanished ten minutes before and always had. He thought, would it still be unprofessional even if they were off the clock? AB laughed like a creep and strolled across glossy hardwood. His unit was seven thousand square feet. He had an entire floor in the heart of the Brickell financial district with panoramic views. Stuck-up rich people loved it here. His slice of the pie sported minimalistic vibes with bright woods and gray suede. Muted tones, a comfy break room, and even a balcony for smoking. There was a second executive office that served no real purpose other than to store boxes and records. AB had no intention of ever taking on a partner. He liked to work alone and stick to himself. After turning everything else off, he engaged the alarm, stepped out, and secured the locks. Without keys. He strutted down the long, echoing hall and hopped in the waiting elevator. Stabbing the B-level button, he made a point not to look at—there were forty-three— AB closed his eyes and poked at random. “Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshit… I am sooooo sorry, Jerry.” Cracking a lid, AB took a deep breath and felt better since it was over. All those precious buttons glowed bright, setting the world right. He glanced at the camera and whistled along to a dumb ass elevator tune that never changed. The box stopped six times before reaching the garage. AB made haste, ran from the lift, and stopped at a modest Hyundai. It was a good car and had tons of legroom. No matter how long he spent in Florida the humidity always strangled him. Before getting in, AB quickly removed his tie and vest. 2.5 seconds and his knees would start sweating. “Yuck.” There was something in the air; it smelled different here. Moist, stuffy, and ripe with vegetation. Everywhere he went, swamp water, brine, nocturnal vagabonds. And the fucking Iguanas, Jesus Christ. “Move to Miami, it’ll be fun. Girls and beaches. Ass and Margaritas. Bitch!” Once seated in the full-size sedan, he threw on a goody. Keep It On the Real. Decades, plural, could pass, and Stackin Chips would still be fire. Backing out, he opened the middle compartment, plucked a waiting preroll and a lighter. With one hand on the wheel, he put lips to the blunt and sparked. AB threw the Zippo, smashed the gas, and made a hard right. Damn one-way streets. After turning onto SW 9th, he found himself jumping onto the I-95. Now, why was he heading straight for Miami Beach? Curiosity, maybe. With lungs loaded with Purple Haze, he held that shit and found a parking space in front of the shop ten minutes later. It being Monday and close to four am, not a soul lurked on the sidewalk. As AB exhaled thick cream, he stared at the shop’s comings and goings. In truth, he was mildly curious about that mouthy little woman with the weird hair. Apparently, he was interested and laughed at her corny ass joke. So, at the very least, he wanted to suck a tiddie. Whenever AB spotted a potential smash and pass, he went for it. After a final hit, he pinched the glowing cherry and stashed it behind his ear. AB then snatched his shirt tails free, unbuttoned, and let the tank work some heavy overtime. Emerging from the vehicle, he noted a blonde out front who stiffened at the very sight of him. “Sup?” She smiled. “Hi.” The tattoo shop was packed with vampires. Miss Mini Skirt looked like an employee. Music was loud as he entered goth heaven. Black on black. Everything, save for the counter space and a white POS. “Oh wow, you’re back, uhm…” The tall brunette with a short cut squinted. “Jaxon.” “Nice memory.” She smirked and nodded. “Come for one yourself this time?” “Nah, nah. I was wondering if the other…” Lifting a hand to his torso, she snickered. “Short one, is around.” “Yeah, actually. She’s in the back, getting her stuff.” Pixie Cut turned, then looked back at him. “We’re about to close up.” “I feel you. Uhm, I’ll wait here.” The female on his radar returned from wherever she had been, and have mercy, hips and thighs were on deck. God damn! He didn’t know what she was looking for in that bag, but hopefully it was her number. “Ndari, baby, have you seen my phone?” “In the POS.” “Shit, right.” She halted and glanced at her buddy. He couldn’t tell for sure, behind the frames. She had a Corey Hart, Sunglasses At Night, fetish. “Look who it is, Ginger Snaps. I’d love to offer a session, but we are done for the night.” She marched forward and he observed the slight limp. Rummaging through the register, she snorted. “You know wh—giiiiirrl, I don’t remember putting it in there.” Scatterbrained? Unattractive. Slamming it shut, she said, “So anyway, feel free to make an appointment Lucky—” “I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. My Mama doesn’t even call me Lucky Charms.” Eyes darted as the blonde swayed behind the counter and the tall one shook her head. But Shorty, recoiled. “You, are a customer in my establishment, and I can refuse service at any time, Irish Cream. I will tase yo big ass. I got one in my purse, run up.” Unclear on how to respond, AB laughed, cause the Napoleon complex was strong as fuck with this one. “Damn, I didn’t come to get tased shit, all I wanted was your number.” She made an odd croaking sound, looked at her employee, then dove into her purse again. “Why you want my number?” “So I can text you. Or FaceTime.” “Fuck FaceTime, I hate Apple…” she paused with the digging and looked up again. “You wanna call me?” “If that’s okay, I guess. Or not.” “I, uhhhh…” She sought her girls again, shrugged, and giggled. Ah, insecure as well. Strike two. She was racking them up quick, but Miss Ma’am didn’t have a thigh gap, and that was his weakness. Smash and dash. Lick and flip, etc. “You know what, I—” Being rude as hell, a male with no sense of personal space leaned on the counter and smiled at Shorty. “Wus up, baby? You ready?” “Yeah, yeah. Uhm…” “Ohhh, you have a boyfriend.” AB sniffed and threw up his hands. “My fault, you coulda just said that.” “He’s not my boyfriend.” “I ain’t,” the male blurted, eyes tracing AB’s frame. “You wanna holla, feel free. Let me mind my business, over here.” He slid to the sitting area, and Jaxon looked back at… “Like I was saying, name and number.” “I think I’ll pass. Oh shit, my Monster.” She scoffed. “I’ll be right back.” As the female ran away after rejecting him like a trick, AB admired the wagon. God! “Damn, bruh, she curved the hell outta you.” “You’re all up in my space.” It seemed the male had crept in beside him once again. “You don’t own me or the shop.” He chuckled. “The fuck.” “If y’all aren’t together, what’s the problem?” The rude gent smiled and checked him for the second time. AB snarled. “You got one more time, halfbreed.” “Aye, bruh, relax. I was just looking, and she ain’t gon’ let you hit…” Licking his lips, the male met AB in the eyes. “But, if it’s back shots you want, I can ease that pain, you feel me.” Jaxon side-stepped and recoiled. “Excuse me?” “Damn, thought I got one. You old as shit from the smell of it. I assumed you was good with it.” “It’s your lack of tact that has me floored, not you hitting on me.” “I didn’t hit on you, Red. I asked if you wanted to fuck. Different shit.” “Okay, I’m ready.” The woman AB came to see, briefly considered him, then the other vampire, who cackled and pushed off the glass. “Let’s go, baby, we gotta buss some corners before sunrise.” As she came around, AB stared her down. Blushing and grinning were good signs. “So you’re gonna give me nothing?” he asked, as her friend exited. “No. N.O., damn. I know you heard me the first time. Bye, girls, be sure to lock up. You have ten minutes, Jack, or whatever your name is. Shit or get off the pot.” Her ass and attitude left. With it, Jaxon’s patience. Humiliation and rejection were uncomfortable. It happened, but maybe three times in his whole life. Yeeeeah, she was gonna regret this, but for now, he’d find a bitch who’d crawl through broken glass to suck his dick.
As Max ran for the ‘88 Monte Carlo she couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t the heavy summer humidity. No, it was the thing that followed them outside. “Get in, get innnn.” The asshole cackled and nodded at the trailing redhead. “You like the view, boy?” “I am ‘bouta kill you.” Max squealed and dropped into the passenger seat. Slamming the door, she ducked. “Get in the fucking car!” “Don’t rush me!” he yelled while sliding behind the wheel. “Is he still there?” “Hell yeah. He got them eyes, baby.” “I knoooowww.” “But he high as fuck too.” “Shut up and let’s go. Pleaaaase,” Max begged. The bastard laughed again, and being high himself, he thought everything was funny. But thank god the engine turned over. Jacking upright, Max did the job of hitting switches. The bounce on its rise was always her favorite part. “Why do you gotta play this song every night?!” She groaned as What These Bitches Want came on loud as hell, thanks to them fifteens in the trunk. “’Cause I like it. You can walk, fuckin’ with me.” “I wish you would,” Max said with hard eye roll. “I’ma make you act right, keep on.” After busting an illegal ass u-turn on Arthur Godfrey, they ran a red light. This man often threw caution to the wind and stayed twenty above the speed limit. That’s why he had a glove box full of speeding tickets. Max giggled and reclined, as if there was a choice in his ‘cruising car’, the bench seat was stuck in recline. This particular vehicle only got action on his nights off, or after work…maybe. Candy apple red, loud, and sitting on old school Dayton’s. His Donk was ghetto excellence with coke white interior. She’d love to see it sparkle during the day, buuuut burning to death was a waste of time. Max minded her business and scrolled various social media sites until a thunder clap came down on her thigh. “Owwwww!” she whined, glaring at the driver. “That hurt, Low!” “Shut up.” Focused on the road and biting his bottom lip, he massaged and groped. Kneading and squeezing. “You never texted me back last night. What happened?” “I fell asleep.” “Lying ass.” His big hand slithered in between, and she shivered. Low’s touch worked like magic. Tingly and warm, Max slumped. She spread her thighs, allowing better access. This didn’t make a lick of sense. She was too old to be sneaking around with some boy! Low was a grown-ass man, but still. “I’m serious,” she said under duress. “I forgot and fell asleep.” “You always forgetting something. What you say to that man?” “Who?” Max hissed through her teeth as he clutched her purring kitty. “Red.” “Oh, nothing. I said nothing. In fact, I was pretty mean to him.” Low smiled, and good god, gold fronts suited him just fine. Shame he only wore them when ‘off-duty’. She liked those slugs. And you know, Low gave Travonte a run for his money. He was that handsome. Using his face as a chair was unavoidable; Max moisturized his exceptionally tailored beard whenever possible. Low was a big-bodied, single male vampire, and Max was unmarried, unbound. Free to mingle. They were never exclusive but had shared a bed for ten years. “You mean to everybody, Maxi.” “Not true.” “It is. And why you not gon’ let him smash?” Glancing at her chauffeur, she said, “Are you kidding? He’s a Pureblood.” “He is. Old too.” “Can’t wait ‘til I can pick up on that stuff.” “Give it fifty more years.” Max was about to unbutton her jeans when the car stopped at the nearest gas station. “Can you get me some hot fries?” “No,” Low bit back. She hissed at him and said, “Please, I’m craving them.” He slid on out and snickered. “I been craving some pussy, you don’t see me begging.” She shimmied on down and blushed. “Ooooh my god, say it louder, why don’t you? And Bet!” She giggled at his filthy mouth. He had no filter, unless at work. Low never cared about what came spouting from his mouth. To a certain extent, neither did Max. They understood each other in that way. Their pairing was highly flammable, but he was her best friend. Wasn’t nobody listening to rap for the duration. She poked the screen and connected her phone. Deciding quickly, Max smiled. “Ayyye, that’s more like it.” The Isley Brothers were her go-to. That Lady was a certified jam. Or was it banger? Slang was getting harder to keep up with. “Man, come on, baby, damn. You lucky I like this song.” Low returned, tossing a bag of hot fries and a bottle of E&J into her lap. “C’mon na’! Thank youuuu.” She kissed the glass and hugged it tight. “You drink like somebody grandma. A damn shame.” “Shut your mouth, you still drink Alize.” Low barked in laughter, started the Chevy, and whipped that hoe out of the parking lot. “You right. Why mess with a good thing?” “See, that’s exactly why I keep to my brandy.” Heading up 41st, she knew they were going to his weedman’s house. He had several in Florida and two in Miami Beach. Low picked her up a lot, so it was best to have one close by the shop. Especially when sunrise was due in an hour and racing them home. Max checked on her tattoo shop as they drove past and was happy to see the place empty. Her small, yet lucrative business was flanked by a kosher market and a Chase bank. It wasn’t South Beach, but being only four blocks away from the tourist trap meant she was in a prime opportunity zone. There were barbershops, eateries, and retail stores on every corner. Traffic flow was substantial, even when she operated after hours. At 3 a.m., however, pedestrians dwindled. Besides the unhoused, she was on a first-name basis with the streets, which were quiet at the moment. When they hit a left on Collins Avenue, Low slowed his ass down because the boys were surely lurking. This place was a dream for spring breakers and yacht enthusiasts. Fun in the sun, beaches, and cocktails. Cuban cuisine, Bossa Nova nights, and salsa dancing. Little Havana and coked-out weekends. “I fuckin’ hate palm trees, bruh.” Max deflated and groaned. “I love the ocean, but I hate humidity, sand in my ass, and entitled outta-towners.” “I know, Maxi.” Low sighed, offering comfort by rubbing her thigh. “I know.” She cringed. “This street makes me feel claustrophobic.” Condominiums and hotels rode the edge of either side like impenetrable prison walls. “I wanna move to like, Montana. See snow-covered pine trees. Live by a lake or something. Ninety-eight years I’ve been here. Goddd! Am I gonna have yet another existential crisis?” Low hummed, keeping eyes on Collins. “You’ll have at least ten before reaching a hundred.” “Great. Love that for me.” The moment Collins Ave turned into Dickens, she took a deep, relieved breath. From towering structures to squat buildings. Tom and Jane from Nebraska would go no further. Tourists didn’t like reality. They wanted ocean views and expensive seafood. Where Max and Low were headed reminded everyone that this was a concrete jungle. Granted, Montana had similar streets loaded with corner stores, pawn and smoke shops. The homeless, however, were sometimes better off on this side. “You remember when Florida was fun?” Max asked. “Hell yeah, before the money came through.” “Right. They turned our home into a shopping mall. And made it harder for everyone. I’ve been saving for five years. It’s bullshit.” “I already told you, Max, you can stay with me.” She arched a brow and said, “Yeah, right. So you can irk my nerves all damn day. Boy, please.” He giggled as the car stopped in front of Paul’s apartment complex. “I’ma be right back, huh.” Low reached under the seat and revealed his favorite Glock. He handed it off and Max cradled the cold weight. “You know what to do wit’ it.” “Bust some caps.” His expression flattened. “Don’t nobody say that no more.” “Well what they say then?” “Air it out? Nah, it’s spray it up.” They shared a bout of heavy laughter as he opened the door. “Whatever them kids be saying. I don’t know, hell.” She watched him hop the gate and jog that heavy, bubble on upstairs. Damn, he had a fat ass. Max was forever telling this man to pull up his britches. Why did everybody have to know the color of his boxers? It wasn’t cute, but she sho’ ‘nough stared at that moving picture every damn time.
Hello, you wonderful people. I hope y’all had a good week and have an even better weekend. I’ve been tweaking, revising, drafting, and promoting a book, so my plate is full as hell. I’m talking ham, yams, turkey, dressing, and greens. I’m gonna need another plate for the macaroni and cheese, chile! My gods. Anyway, we are moving forward in Neon Red, and let me just say, you’ll see a lot of focus on music. It carries me through each book and plays a huge part in Low’s life. If you don’t like name drops, I am sorry. One last thing, don’t forget, this is dark romance. And baby, it’s going to get darker. AB is morally gray, not black, but gray. He’s an ancient Pureblood with a past. Anyway, thank you for reading yet another chapter and as always, I wish you a lovely day! If you have any questions, please DM. Don’t be scared, I swear I don’t bite…all the time.
Unbelievable. How had she folded so quickly? Jasper was celibate and didn’t want to fuck anyone. Hand jobs don’t count! They didn’t count in her world, so this was fine. She was okay with what had transpired, but her heart said otherwise. Her anxiety, fear, and hesitations called her bluff. Jasper was a liar and a coward. Popping upward, Jasper peered into Nieema’s lustrous carmine eyes and shook her head. “I have to go.” And she left, in a puff of gold smoke. This was the quickest mode of transportation for a demon, though not her favorite. With a flick of the mind, Jasper could go anywhere she’d already been in seconds. Buuuut, she didn’t travel that way often because her stomach hated the motion and magic. Despite being born with the ability, her body wasn’t built for it. Moments after transporting, Jasper was irrefutably fucked. The short journey was unkind, rough, and always sent her straight to the god damn lavatory. Her guts were too sensitive for the trip, and with everything else, she was in shambles. Jasper popped up in her cabin, on the pot, and stayed there for a torturous thirty-five minutes. Every so often, Kit’s terrifying demon cat shoved its furry paw under the door. Their claws were menacing and creeped her out. After what seemed like an eternity, Jasper flushed, washed hands, and even showered. She needed to recalibrate and refocus to get sex off her mind. Lust and sexual gratification gave Succubi purpose and essentially made them happier. Jasper loathed the peace and joy riding her bones. She was elated, energized, and ready to dance under a harvest moon for hours. Why were they meant for pleasure? Her only real sustenance was an orgasmic release, sexual energy, and a thick masculine soul. Without sampling at least one of those things, she’d die. Could she ever truly be celibate? No. And she’d never really, actually been that. According to the Internet, she was abstinent. Buuuut, she fucking tried. Nieema’s fingers had been the only thing inside Jasper after months of nothing. And gods, did it feel amazing. She wanted more, but it’d be a mistake on her part to carry on down that road. They were a royal couple, and Jasper couldn’t go there. No matter how desirable the Sunsides were. Being a celibate Succubus was hard as fuck at the moment, but it was better than getting married off and showcased like a doll. She cursed her mother’s strong genes and traits every fucking day. Carrion spread his seed about without shame. He sampled every pussy and hole Undervell offered. Succubi were his favorite, however. They were everyone’s favorite. Jasper could’ve been half Leer demon like her sister; they were common brimstone types with normal sexual appetites. They weren’t highly sought-after commodities. Comely but not stunning. Because Succubi conceived when they wanted and how, their population was small. The last time Jasper checked, there were eighty-four living Succubi left in Undervell. The High Mother protected most of them because of their numbers and how gross demonic males were around them. “Uggggh!” Jasper roared as her body hummed with desire. She’d be frustrated for a few days and needed to keep busy. After moisturizing with citrus-scented body oil, she donned a pair of boxers and a tank top. Jasper wasn’t in the mood for night gowns or robes. “I need games and food.” She trekked into the kitchen and grabbed whatever. Sparkling water, muffins, and hot chips. It’d be good enough for now. On the turnaround, she jumped and growled at the ugly cat. “Shoo!” It hissed, tail flicking with their ass on the counter. “Get off! That’s disgusting.” Jasper went to shove the beast, and it scratched her. “Ow! You shit! Move or so help me—thank god,” she exclaimed as Kit waltzed through the door. “Please get your asshole cat off the kitchen counter.“ “Yoooooou wretched thing!” Kit slammed his satchel and notebook on the island and chased the cat away. “I have told you, Julep! No felines in the kitchen. Gods. He is by far the most stubborn soul I have ever encountered. How are you, sister mine? How was your night?” “Well, not great to be honest.” “Pardon? What’s the matter?” Kit opened the fridge and snapped his head around. “Did someone slight you? Touch you without consent?” Eyes sharp and sparking with fury, he was a sight. Her heart warmed and swelled as her big brother threatened harm to anyone who had hurt her. It kind of made Jasper rethink her silence on the Trevor matter. Maybe he deserved to suffer and shit, if anyone could do the job, it was Kit. “No, no nothing like that.” Jasper sighed, dropped her goodies on the counter, and snatched up a muffin. She tore open the plastic and bit into it. She didn’t know what to say without divulging too much information. So, she went with the obvious. “I went to look at my house for some construction stuff and got attacked by tiny rock-eating fairies. They messed me up pretty bad, thank Undergods we heal fast. I mean, they were tiny but quick. Also, like half of my roof caved in. The whole house is shit, and it’s ruining my mood.” Kit tsked and rummaged in the fridge. “Gods, you’ve had a bad go of it. I think your house is cursed.” “Me too.” “Who sold it to you anyway?” Kit asked, slipping into his apron. “What piece of shit had the audacity? It is abundantly clear that the home was inhabitable. Whomsoever sold it to you knew this. What was their name?” “Hawke, uhhhh Nathan Hawke. He was the real estate agent.” “Hmmmm.” Kit got that look. The flaying look. The expression he took on moments before someone saw their end. “I’ll talk to Joe about this matter tomorrow.” “Joe?” “Yes, he’s Nieema and Buck’s great-grandson.” While Kit busied himself in the kitchen, opening his giant cookbook and gathering ingredients, Jasper jumped up onto the island. She polished off the muffin and grabbed another. “The young man is chatty and knowledgeable. He’s snappy but a complete goof. Not someone I’d fraternize with in Undervell, but pleasant company. And, he’s also the Sheriff.” Jasper recalled Buck saying something about this. “Sheriff, huh?” “Mhm.” Kit nodded as he cracked open large brown eggs over a big bowl. “Yes. He’s allowing me to accompany him on a ride-along tomorrow.” “What the hell is a ride a long?” “It’s when a civilian rides with the Sheriff in their motorized vehicle for the day. And possibly, we’ll dispatch a bit of law and order. The Platter boys have been running amok, don’t you know. Thieves are about, sister. Stay vigilant and watch your gourd.” Jasper cackled, feet swinging. The thought of somebody stealing squash in this town was funny but Kit didn’t think so. His scowl shut me up. “This is no laughing matter. Mr. Carol has worked hard to grow just enough pumpkins for this year’s festivals. He can’t afford to lose anymore. It’d be a travesty.” Jasper chuckled despite his grumbling. “How do you know more about this place than I do?” “Because you, Jasper, are a solitary creature. You’re not curious about others, and you don’t like people. You’d rather stay locked in your chambers with bits and baubles. You’ve always been this way and don’t think you’ve changed much. Are you less than for preferring your own company? No. I think, it’d be good for you to explore Indigo Plains. Especially if you intend on calling it home.” “I am curious. I like to try new things and go places. I went bowling today, thank you very much.” “Good for you! Say, how about you and I visit Maggie in a few days?” “The witch?” “Indeed. How do you know about her?” “Buck mentioned her.” “She makes fine cakes.” Kit lifted his chin and folded hands atop his belly. “Yeees, that is my reason for scheduling another visit. What a delectable bite. You’ll see. Oh, after that, we can go into town and buy more wares.” “With my money?” “Yes.” Kit spun around, turned on the radio, and fussed with it until finding classical music. That was her cue to leave. Jasper slid off the counter and snatched her loot. “Same goes for you, Jasper. Keep your rump off of my counters!” “What are you making?” “A common quiche.” “I don’t know what the fuck that is, but call me when it’s done.” “Will do.” Kicking her door shut, Jasper mulled over what her brother said. He was right, she was a loner, and so the fuck what? She didn’t want to be bothered, and the best way to make that happen was to be by herself. Jasper ignored the ache at the base of her tail and threw snacks on her bed. She’d had it coiled around her thigh all day. It often had a mind of its own, but she was the boss. Over the years, she’d become self-conscious about it, thanks to who? Trevor Fucking Voaremont. He, didn’t like her tail. Said it was weird and trashy to leave out in public. “Leave me alone,” she muttered, plugging in her laptop. Settling on her bed, Jasper placed her computer on a tray, donned her headset, and booted up Streamer for the first time in weeks. After finding a cheap game to download, she popped open her chips. He hated eating in bed, hated her eating junk food, and hated the way she crunched so loudly. “Go to hell, Trevor Voarmont.”
CW: SMUT. I’m not being funny here. SMUT is below. If yall have been waiting for it, here you go. Annnnd, there is more to come. A lot more.
This is for you. The one who loves women with horns and fangs.
From 12 to 1 am they settled in the shop, talking about drawings and patches. Quilts and patterns carried their conversation, and Nieema was fine with it, for a spell. Until Jasper’s blood enticed and entrapped. Nieema wanted a taste and a nibble, a long sip of her rich demonic blood. Their’s was unique and worth a few gold bricks. It was thick, fatty, and filling. With every jump of Jasper’s pulse, Nieema swallowed and clenched her thighs. The small office didn’t do shit but make her agitated. In proximity, Nieema inhaled her scent, gulp after greedy gulp. By 2:30 in the morning, they were drunk on wine and comforting chit chat. Nieema downed a bottle of Pink Potion and loved the buoyancy in her step. Something light and bubbly with ab-positive droplets had her lit and loose. At around 3 am, they skipped on downstairs and sashayed through the game room, hooking a quick left. Nieema pressed her thumb to the reader, and it beeped upon entry. “Welcome to the Lush Room,” Nieema slurred, twirling into the mess of blankets, pillows, and furs. Dim, blue bulbs ushered them into an intimate setting. One with soundproof walls, fluffy handcuffs, and feather ticklers. It was the testing room, so to speak. The place she brought new friends before heading out to the barn. An appetizer before the main course. As the door closed, Nieema collapsed onto a mound of throw pillows and tugged at her tie. Jasper was already crawling on her hands and knees, giggling like a minx. Her ripe, red berry complexion glittered with goldenrod speckles. From the column of her neck, they swirled and dipped. The blouse drooped as Jasper settled on her side. “Where are we?” Jasper asked, the soft white wine claiming her tongue. “It smells good.” “Incense, love.” “I like them.” “And I, like you,” Nieema admitted. Keeping space between them, she lounged behind the demoness and snatched the tie free. Nieema tossed it aside and hummed. “What you got to say about that?” Laughter caused her soft belly to ripple. “I don’t know.” “A coy succubus? That’s some shit you don’t see every day.” “I…you don’t come across vampire queens every day either.” “True. But I don’t think shyness is your thing.” “It’s not.” “That’s what I’m saying.” Nieema loved being tipsy off her ass, but she loved pussy more. And she enjoyed this woman’s scent too much not to speak of it. “You intrigue me, Jasper.” “You already said that.” “I want to taste you.” The succubus rolled onto her stomach, propped on her forearms, and smirked. “I bet you do.” Nieema purred and popped the first three buttons on her shirt. “There she is. Where have you been hiding?” “It’s cause I’m drunk.” Jasper pushed upward and made her way over. Nieema wasn’t one to hesitate. She threaded claws through Jasper’s short, white tresses, avoiding her horns. “Will you let me savor you, deary?” Nieema asked, tightening her hold. Forcing Jasper to meet Nieema eye to eye. Between her legs, she whined with glassy eyes and parted lips. Arousal wafted, nestling and growing within. The moment Jasper nodded, Nieema flexed below the belt and growled. “Please.” “Begging will get you nothing. Not with your inebriation. We gotta sober up, love.” “How?” 0Nieema grinned, staring into Jasper’s blazon desperation. Using her mystical will, she called forth the vial tucked behind a pillow on the far wall. The cobalt bottle flew across the room. Nieema caught it without an upward glance. “This,” Nieema began, shaking the vial, “is your sobriety. It will wake you right the fuck up and revitalize you. Clarity in seconds. Would you like a bit, Jasper?” “Are you—you’re not taking advantage of me?” “Of course not, I’m a bitch, a killer, and often a meddling grandmother, but I am never a piece of shit predator. I know how they portray us in the media, and to that, I say, fuck you. Your consent and autonomy mean something in this house.” Jasper nodded again and licked her lips. “Yes, I want some.” “Open for me, love.” Jasper’s pupils shrank and elongated; it was a characteristic Nieema knew well. It was a succubus on real life demon time. The woman showcased her long, ridged red tongue, and Nieema squirmed. She loved its pointed tip and prehensile nature most. Nieema twisted the cap and pinched the rubber top, filling it with a single, potent drop. “You ready?” Jasper rumbled her displeasure, and Nieema laughed, releasing a magic liquid pearl. The shimmering jade bead was absorbed on impact. Not a second later, Jasper gasped. She bolted upright and placed a hand on her chest as Nieema administered her own. Closing her eyes, she let magic have its way. Weaving through her nervous system and washing them veins. The powerful liquid attacked her motor functions and brightened the world. The Lush Room was still blue, but Jasper’s eyes were vibrant, and the gold trailing her limbs called for a closer examination. “I’ve got to be more than sober,” Jasper said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this awake or energized in my life. And that’s after dining on some heady masculine soul.” “Perfect, that’s exactly what I want to hear.” Nieema shoved the bottle behind a pillow and asked, “What you wanna do? You’re free to go, or stay. But my proposal stands.” Sitting back on her knees, Jasper considered Nieema for a cool minute. Her fixed, molten copper attention was welcome. “All you want is my blood?” Nieema took to onyx cufflinks and smirked. “No. Not even close, but it will suffice.” She rolled up her sleeves and beckoned Jasper with the deliberate flick of two fingers. “You will satisfy me, demon.” Jasper lifted her skirt and inched forward on her knees, locked into their visual connection. “Be gentle with me, you’re my first vampire.” “It is an honor,” Nieema rasped, pulling Jasper in by her luscious waist. Pliant and plush, she was divinity in motion. Hiking up, Nieema grinned and brushed Jasper’s smooth cheek with an adorned knuckle. She searched for cracks and fissures as the demon looped its arms around her. An incredible warmth settled on the skin and penetrated, bone deep. Nieema sighed and grazed her lips upon Jasper’s shoulder. Her scent thickened in the sweet spot. Behind the ear and in the blessed crook, Nieema inhaled once more, unable to pinpoint her blood type, and that alone thrilled an old, seasoned bitch. “You are rare indeed, love.” Jasper reared back with her chin high and silver brow arched. The jewels at her neck and ears winked under the blue hue. “Are you going to talk the whole time or take what you need?” Nieema cupped her nape and kneaded her plump, dimpled hip. “Needy, impatient, and overcome with desire. You are wearing my favorite perfume.” She yanked Jasper forward and stopped centimeters from her parted lips. Nieema growled. A whisper of contact was enough to make her ache and swell, yearn for Jasper’s supple flesh. “Be of care, sweet flame. Wish not for what you do not understand.” Her resistance was futile. Jasper jumped the line and kissed Nieema first, fighting for the dominance Succubi love so god damn much. Their fervent, hot-headed nature and mounting desire were a call to action. An intense pressure coiled in Nieema’s belly and settled between soaked walls. Dark fragrant woods, blood orange, and cocoa provoked her thirst. Jasper straddled Nieema, teased and tested, wanting the underhand. She wouldn’t find it here. To prove a point, Nieema bit Jasper’s bottom lip, drawing a razor-thin line of blood to the surface. The demoness winced and recoiled, fingers to the healing slit. “Take it easy, honey. You don’t got no status here. I run this shit, understand?” “For now,” Jasper snarled. Her warped, guttural response made Nieema shudder and groan. Hands clasped on either side of Jasper’s face, she went all in for a second time and consumed the daring devil. They were enraptured, undone, and pining for more of what the other wanted to give. Nieema demanded entrance and sought to plunder as Jasper surrendered. This moment was familiar, yet unlike the other Succubi Nieema had lain down. Their carnal connection claimed the very breath in her lungs and threatened obliteration if she didn’t find release soon. On the dangerous precipice of bliss, Nieema severed their physical tether and nibbled her way down to the golden pulsating vein. Nieema kissed and nipped at her hot, cherry-red flesh. “Do it!” Jasper commanded, her demonic will shifting the pressure and oxygen level. It’d have no way with Nieema; she was an old, craggy vampire with power of her own. “You demand nothing of me,” Nieema whispered. “But I will take all from you.” With growing hunger and marrow boiling, Nieema snapped Jasper’s head to the side and punctured her throat with fangs longer than a tea finger. Her willing donor scrambled for purchase, claws ripping Nieema’s shirt to tatters. Scratching and moaning, Jasper gasped with them, body to body. Nieema held tight to Jasper’s sturdy feminine frame and purred as decadent blood squelched her hunger. Well-rounded and evenly spiced, Jasper’s blood was full. It surpassed melted chocolate, sugar cane syrup, and honey butter. It satisfied Nieema’s massive sweet tooth. She was a delicacy. “You feel so goood.” Nieema yolked her, still pulling from her healthy vein. “Oh god, what—what are you doing to me?” Jasper keened, claws digging into Nieema’s back. She took the pain willingly and longed for her to go deeper, to pierce sinew. “Touch me,” Jasper begged, with the roll of her hips. “Please, Nieemaaaa. Stroke me. Fuck me!” She pleaded like all the rest, and Nieema was happy to oblige. As she chuckled, sucking down what this woman was so intent on giving, she released her hip. Nieema slowed and sipped as she hooked a finger into Jasper’s waistband and pulled. Her nostrils flared, scenting her precious arousal. A thick, sweet musk made her grunt at the demon’s neck. “I’m so fucking close,” Jasper said, words running together, sticking to her tongue like honey. Nieema reveled in this and her blossoming arousal. It was thick enough to drink and swallow. Succubi desire stained the air and quickened one’s libido. Nieema may have been aged like fine, fairy wine, but she wasn’t immune to all succubi’s wiles. This proved fact was the second she shoved a hand between Jasper’s trembling thighs. Her pussy was bare, soaked, and plump. Ample lips pleased Nieema so much she moaned and swallowed another ounce of blood and breathed in her lucious scent. It caused Nieema to buck and find the demoness’s big, swollen clit. She slapped it twice before rolling it with two fingers. Wide open and streaming, Jasper’s waters flowed, dripping down the inside of her thighs. “Nieema, please!” Without delay, Nieema traced her puffy, hot entrance and pushed inside. Two fingers deep, she sucked on Jasper’s neck as her own pussy clenched and stomach tensed. Her nipples hardened, and lungs worked overtime. “Yesssss, right there, baby.” Jasper slumped, and Nieema took all her weight as she let the feel of this woman’s demonic pussy take her away. Succubi were tight and slick, with walls made for massaging. Jasper tightened, and Nieema pulled hard at her throat and undulated. They writhed against each other, breast to breast, panting. Nieema sank into Jasper and added a third finger. “Fuck! Yes, shiiiiiit,” Jasper rasped, pumping her hips to meet Nieema’s motion. As her desire replaced the oxygen, Nieema purred louder and locked onto her jugular. With fingers working the inside of Jasper’s gripping pussy, they moaned as one and rode an erotic, humid high. Nieema growled, feeling a hand on the outside of her pants. With a final, long gulp, she detached from Jasper’s throat and roared. “Get me off. Make me nut right on your hands, love.” Nieema mewled as Jasper quickly unbuttoned her pants and dove inside. The fingers on her clit, the ones in Jasper’s pussy, and the blood in her veins sent Nieema into a fit. She stroked between the succubi’s walls, the melody of her wet, sopping pussy delighted Nieema’s senses and tipped the scales. She shouted curses as red exploded behind her eyes. Nieema collapsed onto a bed of pillows and undulated. While Jasper rode her fingers, she arched into a filthy fucking clit twirl and purred aloud. With the world on fire and her lungs stalled, Nieema came apart at the seams. She strained, hooking legs around the sexy demoness. “My Undergods!” Jasper heaved, her face into a pillow. Fluttering and leaking around Nieema’s fingers, she cursed yet again. “Shit!” Nieema scrubbed her face with a blanket and chuckled. “You sure know how to make a first impression, girl.”
Once again, I want to say thank you for reading my little story. Without y’all, I wouldn’t keep doing this. So just know, I am grateful for each and every one of you. I hope you are healthy, happy, and HYDRATED!If you have any questions about the characters, the story, Indigo Plains, or in general, please don’t hesitate to comment or email!
“Okay, but caffeine is a controlled substance at this point, teetering on the edge. Let’s be for real. It should be just as, if not harder to get, ‘cause it’s strong as hell, I ain’t lying now, and you know this, chile.” Max stared at the sketch she’d been working on for two days and hated it. She hated a lot of her work. It was never bright enough, perfect enough, or even slightly artistic. At least, in her humble opinion. “I love it when you talk like a grandma.” Max smiled and put pencil to paper once more. It was tough to concentrate on the mermaid slash steampunk piece with Can’t Stop by After 7 blasting. “That’s ‘cause I am, a grandma, Ndari.” “No the hell you are not.” She chuckled and said, “You’d have to be a grandmother for that. And you don’t even have kids.” “Annnnd I never will,” Max sang, meaning every word. Kids were a scary, sticky fingered bunch, plus the idea of growing another body inside of her own was revolting. She shivered, blew a huge Bubblicious sphere, popped it, and examined the girl’s face etched on white parchment. “She looks like Gary Busey.” “You always think they look like Gary Busey.” “’Cause they do, bruh. Like, swear to god. Look!” Spinning the heavy book around on the glass counter, she shoved it at Ndari. The girl stopped with her broom work and glanced at the buxom mermaid. “Nothing like him.” “Lyin’ ass,” Max muttered. Ndari giggled and returned to sweeping the two- hundred-square-foot waiting area. A high-gloss black floor meant everything was visible, and Ndari never missed a speck. Little miss was a bona fide neat freak. She peeped allllll dust, dirt, and debris. The girl swept about twenty times a night, and the entire shop smelled like Lysol. Which, was actually a good thing considering their specialty. Snagging her three-hundred-page drawing book, Max got back to business and shaded in her tail. The fins were adorned with bolts and wires. She loved mermaids, sirens, and the ocean. The mermaid thing was borderline obsessive. “I have no appointments!” “And here he goes…” Max slammed her book closed, threw the pencil, and watched as Jordan stomped from the back and fell onto a fancy sectional. “And whose fault is that?” Ndari barked. His enormous frame filled a five-seater without issue. The six-foot-eight, two hundred and ninety-pound mountains Doc Martens stretched well past the arm. “Shut up bitch, I am boooored, okay,” Jordan cried, while Max cocked a brow. “Seeing as it’s June third,” Max said, “you are ‘bouta be crying in two weeks. ‘Cause our shop will be booked to hell. So look here, heffa, don’t come hooping and hollering now. Take this time, ‘cause your lazy behind will be the first one moaning about how you’re tired and overworked.” The man bolted upright and gasped, full on drama with a hand on his broad chest. “Why do you have to drag me like that?” “’Cause I love you,” Max chimed. Jordan blushed and waved a hand. “And I love you, boss lady.” “Move!” Ndari yelled, shoving at his foot with the broom. “You know what? You can stop yelling at me, Cinderella.” They both giggled while Jordan lifted his feet. Big Mister had a voice like Barry White, a beard he kept tailored and braided Thor style. Folks often assumed he was in a biker gang or a motorcycle club, whatever they was calling it these days. “Can we play something newer?” Ndari groaned as she sprayed large, spotless windows with stank glass cleaner. “Like, Nsync.” “Nsync?!” Max balked, recoiling at the audacity. “You know better Ndari, this ain’t an Nsync safe zone. It’s New Kids on the Block or Backstreet Boys. You getting Mint Condition, Jodeci, and Silk. Shit. Nsync is not welcome, and that ain’t new. You showing your age, now.” Ndari cackled as she swiped and polished. “I am only forty-nine.” “Girl, we got cougars up in here.” Max ignored Jordan and his eighty-two-year-old ass. Pointing at her best friend, Max snorted. “Honey, forty-nine is edging fifty. You are almost a senior citizen.” “Shhhh, don’t.” Ndari snickered and threw a paper towel across the room. It landed on the floor, she ran for the thing, and snatched it quick. “If any of you drop even a crumb my floor, you’ll have to see me in a duel.” Of course, there was a clatter of metal on granite. Jordan emptied his pockets. He threw a handful of change and mints at the girl’s feet. Ndari screamed, jumped on his dumb self, and put him in a choke hold. She’d taken four years of Jujitsu and was not to be trifled with. Jordan, on the other hand, ain’t never been in a fight. Standing behind the counter, Max booted the POS and clicked until finding their ordering database. She checked what was low and restocked, two of everything. “Incoming!” Jordan shouted and hopped to it. Ndari went with him and hung from his neck like a pendant. “I’m ready! Move girl. I need to make some money.” “Yes, you do.” Max peered through tinted double panes as two men approached in a hurry. They looked stacked from afar. “Damn.” Ndari dropped the broom and ran behind the counter. She tended to her job, as a receptionist. Max slid in and leaned beside the woman who readied her tits and fluffed a cute pixie cut. It shooolll was a setup. Heady spices and blood wafted at the exact moment two fine men entered her tattoo shop. Ohhhh, yes, those two would turn a girl out and into something nasty. “Aye, you takin’ walk-ins?” The brunette asked, in a Goodfellas accent. Ndari nodded. “Indeed, you lucked out. We don’t close ‘til four.” The testosterone-heavy boys admired their high wall covered in art and drawings Max personally sketched. People liked her shit…shit being the main word there. “Cool, ‘cause we stopped on South Beach, at The Tattoo-” Max snapped her fingers, cutting off the insult. “We don’t say that name around here.” She smiled, showed and teeth ‘cause them was vampires staring at her. “Oh, my fault.” He was naughty as his eyes snagged on both sets of cleavage. Sex sells, okay. They’d booked so many clients after a peek of tiddie meat. “Anyway, they were closed, so we asked around. We were told, Ink In Hell was the next best thing.” “I should turn you away for the disrespect, Paulie.” Max tsked playfully as the big ol’ slab of muscle smirked. Those baby blues sparkled as she swung attention to his buddy. A spicy red he was. Taller, too. Six-five, maybe six. Wide, thick, and tatttted up. She clocked a couple of clovers weaved into ornate markings on his forearms. He was obviously Irish. As if his brazen, long mane wasn’t enough evidence. Red nudged Gotti and whispered in his ear. They cracked in heavy masculine laughter. “Alright, alright. I don’t know what I want. Fuck outta he’.” Jesus, he was a bold cliché. “So, what do you two have in mind?” Ndari asked, her voice lower than normal. It was clear she wanted one or both. “We have plenty of options.” “I don’t know.” The Italian Job shrugged and went on. “I never even had a tattoo before. I’m old school, body is a temple, and all that. You know. I was raised Catholic. My Gma is gonna have a stroke if she finds out.” Big Red turned and pinned eyes on Max. She wiggled a little. He was fine. Handsome in the extreme. A full-grown ass male like that was not going to knock on her coffin. Then he spoke. “I’m hoping to pop his cherry.” Sex, his voice was a lengthy four rounds of deep, sweat soaked hunchin’. Max laughed and slapped the counter. “’Nough said, come here, church boy.” She gestured for their company and snagged another full sketchbook. Good lawd, they smelled decadent. Cologne, aftershave, weed, and soap…male vampire. The latter got her carpet wet, honey. “Okay, so you’re Catholic and Italian.” “How’d you know, I—” “Lucky guess, it’s your sense of humor.” He grinned and tapped his buddy’s chest. “Look at this youngsta, here. She got a mouth, don’t she?” “I am ninety-eight years old, Frankie.” “Aye, Frankie is my cousin, I’m Ines.” Her brows arched at the revelation. “Not what I assumed at all.” “Yeah.” Ndari hummed, considering Ines. “Thought you more of a… Giraldo, maybe.” “That’s terrible, I’d slit my own jugular.” Their quad chuckled as Jordan appeared and cleared his throat. “I’m ready when…ever. Hi.” He waved at Ines and the Irishman. “What about you? What’s your handle?” Max asked the comely fellow. He dragged a low-lidded gaze over and grinned. Like a nasty, mischievous Sphinx on the prowl. “Jaxon.” “Ohhhh, kaaaayyy.” Jordan chimed in from behind and shoved his big ass between them. Max brushed the wall and giggled. “That’s rustic and rugged.” “I think it’s classy, my Mom has good taste.” “She does.” Jordan nodded and twiddled his braid. “Okay, back to you, Ines.” Max pushed at her cock blocker… that was funny. No way in hell. “You’re Italian, catholic, and have a grandmother. So, I’d say, medium-sized, and nothing too flashy.” “Yeah, yeah, exactly.” Max chewed quickly and blew a bubble. She flipped plastic pages with vamp speed and stopped on an Italian flag number. The words, ‘Chaoi bella’ in cursive, were etched under it. “Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! I will protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me, from my friends.” Max recited the words, and Ines tapped Jaxon again. “You know Italian?” “I do.” “Il tuo un breve asno intelligente.” “You are right on both accounts, I am short, and I am a smart ass.” Max shrugged and sighed. “Thanks for noticing.” Another bubble emerged and exploded while he cackled. “I like it, I wanna get that one. My Gma will approve, and it’s not so big.” “Perfect,” Ndari said. She started the formalities of payment and such. “Have you fed within eight hours?” “No.” “Okay, great.” “Alllrighty.” Jordan had to say something. “When you’re done, Ndari will bring you into my office.” The male spun on his heels, happy as hell. And so was Max, this guy was their third customer of the night. Summer was a pain in the ass. They had roughly five hours to work with, and humans weren’t allowed…sort of, so they were short on time. Max watched them exchange money for services, and hot damn. They were a duo made for GQ or Vogue. Ines had a rough quality, handsome and dark, tanned. His other half was pretty, runway-ready, and fuckin’ seductive. Being escorted, neither took a second look, and…story of her life. Vampires like that never gave Max the time of day. Ndari shuffled back in her Crocs and met her face to face. “I am sweating… everywhere.” “Shhhhh.” Max grabbed the girl’s hand, her vape, and ran out the door. They giggled into the night and flopped down at one of the small bistro tables. “I cannnot,” She blurted. “Honey, I—two?” As Max turned on her pen, Ndari squealed. “Two purebloods at once. My god, did you see Ines and those shoulders? I swoon.” “Okay, but that ginger boy?” “Makes you think, does everything match the drapes. You should shoot.” Max chuckled, expelling a light mist of smoke. “I know you fukin’ lyin’. Big boys like him do not fool with women like me, a halfbreed is below their station. I know my lane, ‘aight. And I stay in it.” Her best friend knew nothing about living as a six, seven on a good night. Ndari was fabulous, a classic beauty queen from Indonesia. Lithe and athletic. By no means did Max hate herself, but she preferred to call a spade, a spade. “Not this again,” Ndari mumbled. “You’re always so humble… and self-deprecating.” “I am not self-deprecating.” Max paused to suck down cherry-scented smoke and spoke on exhale. “I’m a realist, I ain’t ‘bouta set myself up for humiliation.” She wasn’t no dummy and wouldn’t play the town fool either. “Tuhuh, not I. Aye, did you see how high he was?” “Yeesss.” Ndari slouched in her chair. “Mr. Jaxon was baked. Flying.” “Must be nice. Weed makes me nervous.” Hitting the pen one mo’ gain, Max nodded. “Give me a bottle of brandy, and I’m straight.” “Old ass. You sound like my aunt.” “I am an auntie, hell. Got on cotton bloomers to prove it.” Her girl cut up, and they cackled at the self-burning. But hey, at least she wasn’t delusional about her geriatric status.
Annnd we made it to publishing day! I know it’s late, but I didn’t give a set time for a reason, because I know me. Also, I wanna let y’all know that this almost didn’t happen. I almost made a post stating how I was too sick to edit it. But you know what? I pushed through this flu I got. It’s bad y’all. About six days of hellll on earth, you hear me? Anyway, I said fuck it. No excuses. So I got my lap desk and did what needed to be done. I figured I’d have days to do all this, but I was extremely unwell there for a spell and couldn’t even sit upright. I am now on the mend and felt good enough to get it done FOR Y’ALL. I set a date and I wanted to stick to that. I wanted to prove it to myself that I could do it, no matter what. I’m proud of myself and I’m excited that y’all get meet the Troublesome Trio, as I have called them for a few years. With that said, happy reading, and as always, thank you so very much for stopping by!
Pouring a fresh batch of clove-spiced blood into her coffee, Nieema frowned at the text message. She sucked her teeth and grumbled. It was too early for this shit. Too early to be this pissed. Domestic violence and attempted murder? Demon hunting? In Ravensguard? “Oooo bitch,” Nieema mumbled, stirring her energy booster. “Somebody will get it for this one.” “Grandma,” Mace called, the time telling on him. “Gma?” “Mmm?” Nieema leaned against the counter and lifted the heated mug to her lips. She paid her gbaby no mind and read another text from Buck. It wasn’t helping her one bit. How the hell had this happened? A Voaremont boy was Jasper’s abusive ex. “Yes, honey?” “Why did you call my husband?”. “Well—” “You and Mama need to mind yours.” Nieema scoffed and snatched him right on up with one look. Mace knew damn well not to go there with her. “You might wanna check that tone, sir.” “I’m sorry, Grandma.” “Mhm. Listen, I only called to see how he was doing. In case you’ve forgotten, I used to change his diapers. His mother is my best friend. I can see about whoever I like. I can call and text a boy I’ve known for over fifty years. And it just so happens, he’s having marriage troubles.” Mace smacked his teeth and grabbed a pear from the fruit bowl. “You use that as an excuse to go snooping.” Nieema considered her grandchild, sipping hot blood and cafe mocha. “Baby, what are y’all gonna do? ‘Cause Patrick is saying this might be it, and he wouldn’t go into why.” Mace crunched on his fruit and turned away. He stared out the window and shrugged. “For years, we talked about kids. He wanted them, and you know I do. After fifteen years, I’m read,y and he’s not. Says he has a few more trips in him and I just…” Time meant nothing to a vampire. Nieema didn’t even think about it most nights. No point. Perhaps without obligations and a large family, she would. Immortality was a gift. She wasn’t the brooding sort. There wasn’t enough humanity left within for that. But when she saw time pass in the eyes of her grandchildren, immortality seemed cruel. Mace was their first grandchild and more orc than vampire. With his mother only being half, that three percent wasn’t enough. The gray at his temples and increasing laugh lines scared her. She’d already lost two grandchildren; Mace would make three. Orcs didn’t live forever. His father was a chieftain and met their daughter later in life. Mace had a right to want children as he was on a time frame. “Oh, honey. I know this is rough. And I know it’s not where y’all wanna be.” Mace shook his head and dumped the core in the trash. He tucked his hands into his pockets and said, “He’s being dramatic, per usual. I didn’t say nothing about divorce. I’m just tired. I want to find a surrogate and start our family.” Nieema put her coffee down and rushed to hug her baby. Mace enveloped her in his stocky arms and squeezed. “Aww, it’s okay, love. It’s gonna be alright. I know these things. I feel them. Stay positive.” “I’m trying, Grandma. But, God. Marriage is hard.” “Shit, who you telling?” She stepped back and slapped his shoulder. “Let me make you some food.” “Nah, I’m good. I’m trying to lose so—” “Please! I don’t wanna hear that shit! You got orc blood. There is no losing weight, my boy! Now, sit your ass on down. Don’t make me tell ya twice.” Mace kissed her head and rolled his eyes into the family room. “Okayyy, a lil somthin.” Happy to cook and make her baby smile, she put together a staple. Country fried steak, over easy eggs, and grits, no sugar cause Mace uppity like that. Forty-five minutes later, she slid the big man his plate. He sure didn’t refuse and ate every last bite. Nieema was okay with a mug of blood and cubes of raw meat. As her stress level ascended, her desire for solids dwindled. On the way to her office, she heard the door and laughter. Buck and Jasper entered the house gossiping like elder queens. It was pleasant and welcome after the news from earlier. At six-hundred years young, Nieema was an old hag and nosy like one too. She wanted to know what made Jasper loosen up around Buckley. The man and his wiles might have won the sultry demoness over. With curiosity driving her, Nieema jogged back downstairs and sashayed into the kitchen, where Jasper and Mace spoke. “It’s a pleasure, Jasper. I hope my grandparents been treating you nice.” The succubus was a sight in all them pastels. Shades of purple complemented her red complexion. “They’re okay, not too bad.” Jasper waved. “Hello.” Nieema lifted her chin and eyes after winking at the fine woman. “What have you been up to, Mista?” Buck snickered, chewed his cinnamon gum, and sauntered toward the icebox. “Despite what went down, we got allat paperwork out the way.” “Thank god!” Jasper stepped up, and Nieema smirked as the succubus caressed a single braid. If this were any other night, with anyone else, she’d bite them for touching her hair, but she was soft on this one. Nieema wanted Jasper close enough to touch, to scent, to hold. Finding out Jasper had been abused set Nieema off. Her irritation reached peak and the sun had just set. “Jasper, how would you like to come with me tonight?” She released the blue strand and looked at Buck. “Well, we were going to Maggie’s.” “Maggie’s?” Nieema inquired and retrieved her keys from the bowl on the counter. “For what?” “She wanna learn magic,” Buck said, cheek packed with homemade brownies. “Is that so?” Jasper looked too god damn cute in her skirt and colorful scarf. Nieema wished to wrestle her out of that there fancy top and dine for hours. She smelled of caramel and cocoa. Something decadent and bad for your teeth. A forbidden treat to eat in private with drapes drawn and phones on DND. “Uhm…” Jasper twirled and faced the man stuffing his face. “Can we see Maggie later?” “Whenever you ready. Imma go to the shop, fill in for the night, and see about it.” Buck smiled, all nice like, but Nieema knew better. She knew her man. He was up to no good and after his text, the glint in his stare wasn’t a surprise. Sighing, Nieema made way for her husband and gripped his chin. “Don’t make me come looking for you. Be careful and don’t spill blood. Do you hear me?” “I ain’t got time for none of that.“ “Buckley?!” Nieema forced eye contact, and he cackled. “I won’t.” “Where are you going?” Jasper asked. Mace muttered in passing, “To cause trouble.” “I ain’t!” “You are,” Nieema said. “Which is fine. But don’t kick up too much dust, old man.” “I won’t.“ She twisted the length of his braid around her fist and yanked his ass down to her level. Nieema demanded a kiss and was given her due. Buck devoured her just as he had the fudge brownie. Chocolate and fruit coated his tongue. Tea leaves, sun-ripened strawberries, and delicate lavender petals. Buck growled with one hand on her ass. Nieema purred and pushed him off. “You can’t even get it up,” Nieema hissed. “That ain’t my fault! It’s the tea!” “Hm.” Running a hand down her tie, Nieema glanced at Jasper. Her slack jaw and wide eyes painted a pretty picture. “Let’s go, girl. He’s such a tease.” “I told you, it—“ “The ‘tea’, I heard you love.” Buck giggled, biting into a second brownie. “Don’t make me pin ya lil’ ass to the ceiling, now.” “If only!” Nieema started for the patio doors and threw them open with her supernatural mental abilities. She marched out into a humid night and groaned. In a mood, thanks to current events, she snarled at a sticky, wet heat. Maybe a power suit wasn’t the best idea, but she was on a mission at the moment. “Jasper?!” “Coming.” Jasper arrived seconds later and slowed. “Where are we going?” “To see my brother.” “For what exactly?“ Jasper prodded. “We need to talk with the governor of Misthill, and before I, speak with them. My brother sets the table, so to speak.” “What do you have to discuss?“ “Buck told me what happened, Jasper.” She stopped dead, and Nieema halted. The succubus glowed beneath the waxing moon. Gold undertones set her skin on fire, but it was the dimming flame in her eyes that gave Nieema pause. “Nieema, I let it go. I don’t want to make this an issue. I went to therapy, and I’m done with it. I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I need to move on. This isn’t a big deal, and it’s not your problem.” “Surely, Buck done told you who I am.” “He did.” “Well, then, I’ll have you know this is my problem. You are a citizen of Ravensguard, which makes you my, responsibility. I don’t take demon hunting or any other hunting, for that matter, lightly. If this is anyone’s problem, it is mine. Even if a god had hurt you, I still would have flayed them.” Jasper scowled, shaking her head. “Why would—you and Buck don’t even know me.“ “I can’t say, for sure.” Nieema shrugged, having no final response as yet. “Alls I know is I like you. You sweet. Plus, you started a brush fire in my chest, and I don’t know how to contain it. What is it about you? I don’t know. But what I do, know is that hunting is against the law, my, law. This will bear dire consequences for anyone, even Trevor Voaremont.”
So, I finished another MS and thank the Green Goddess because, y’all! I was struggling for a while there. I wrote two 70k novels last winter, and they aren’t finished. Which is unlike me on so many levels. When I start a new MS, I finish it, post-haste. No excuses, no distractions. Somehow, I got mentally cockblocked. By what? I don’t know. This was the reason I started writing novellas in the first place. I figured, let me dip my pretty big toe into another pond and see what happens. Wellll, y’all, it worked. I typed, ‘THE End’ on a 100k Historical Fantasy. And I gotta say, IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE BAAAACK!
Now I can carry on with my paranormal romance series. It’s ten books deep, btw, and nowhere near the finale. I breathe easier knowing I can move forward with Patches and maintain. I was worried there for a second, babes. Not that I don’t already have an end ready to go for our slutty trio, because I do. I was more worried about hitting an insurmountable wall. Fear of sputtering out midway through caused me to back away from lengthier projects. But, I am happy to say, I have conqured this titty-fucker of a writing demon. They have been banished! And hopefully, I won’t hear from them ever again.
SN: PW&P Chapter 12 is due this Sunday! Once again, thank you for reading! Have a lovely day, beautiful human!
J. T. Frost 