Tag: indie writers

Chapter 18: Of Teas & Curses

“Goddog,” Buck mumbled, missing the mesh bag by a whole hell of a lot. “Get off it, old man.” After the pep talk, he nabbed his pipe and puffed for a moment, glaring at a wooden box filled with bags. The festive months lifted his spirits, and typically, getting a head start on Chrismassy things made Buck happy. Of course, the women had ruined his favorite hobby. “Shiiiiiit.”
“What’s wrong, buttercup?” Totti asked, patting her ruffled skirt. “You love working on holiday specials.”
“I do, but it’s our house guest that’s got me in a tizzy. She’s working my last nerve, too.”
“He wants to fuck heeeeeeer,” Torti sang.
“I do. He ain’t lying. Thing is, she ain’t available.”
Totti shrugged and said, “Well, there’s other bees on the bud, honey. You know this.” The wee betty landed on the mushroom-shaped bowl of his pipe and placed hands on her narrow hips. “Y’all are mighty generous with your bed, never too picky either. Go find someone who is available.”
Buck canted his head, brows knitting. “But I don’t want nobody else right now. She’s my fancy at the moment, Totti. And you know how I get when someone grabs my attention.”
“True, but if she’s not into it, then you have no choice but to accept it.”
“You ain’t lying either.” Buck took to his pipe, and Totti pushed off, then flitted about. “I gotta respect her wishes, and I do, but she lost a bet.”
“What a fucked way to go about getting what you want,” Torti said, jumping into a pile of crackly mint leaves. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you a cunt.”
“Thank youuuuu, I love you too, Buckley.”
The mini man and miss wore the same attire at all times, preferring tunics and fluffy dresses. Because Nieema loved them more than most, she made their cute garments. Other sprites thought them weird for adopting “primitive fashion trends”. They were nudists by nature and didn’t see the point in covering their bodies.
Buck didn’t care, but not everyone shared their love of running ‘round the forest booty naked.
“She agreed to this bet,” Buck amended, setting his pipe on the table. “Jasper could’ve said no.”
“You could’ve not offered,” Torti said, grinning like Carl’s raggedy ass. The sprite ducked into the pile of leaves and popped up, tossing them in the air. “Ugggh, I love fresh mint. This shit clears my skin and guts.”
“I don’t need to hear ‘bout your guts, Torti. Please do shut the fuck up.”
“As much as I don’t want to agree with the village bitch,” Totti chimed, “I must say that was mischievous of you.”
“Would you look at that, I’m living up to Mama’s expectations.”
Torti and Totti spat in their palms and flapped their wings three times. “No, no. We shall not speak of her in our sanctuary. Don’t go there, buttercup.”
“Sorry,” Buck muttered.
He quieted and let nature speak for him. The homey treehouse was a living entity, groaning and shifting as Buck shuffled from shelf to shelf. He hummed and two-stepped as soft, deep lofi played from the small speaker on the kitchen counter. It was wedged between canisters, candles, and teacups.
The art of tea making soothed his spiraling thoughts. One-hundred sachets later, Buck yawned and scratched the base of his left antler.
“These ‘bouta shake loose. Another week or so.”
“Yaaaay!” Torti circled Buck and clapped in his line of sight. “You hear that, T? We’re getting new mattressessss.”
“That is lovely, mine is getting lumpy. I can barely sleep.”
Buck was all about resource and reuse. Nothing in nature goes to waste. Even the velvet on his antlers. It made for great bedding materials. The sprites loved how soft it was, and he didn’t need it after a time. Hank, on the other hand, hated how he gave it away for free… and to sprites of all people.
A repetitive tapping at the door made his mouth and ear twitch. “Come on in.” The visitor chirped and wobbled on through the revolving window pane made for avian and sprite folk alike.
“You late,” Buck snapped. The colorful bird didn’t pay him any mind, chasing Torti around the tree house. One day, they’d stop flirting and be done with it. Chessie was married but free to fuck. He was polyamorous; his husbands were not. Two men shared Chessie; they didn’t even live together. It wasn’t no shit Buck would volunteer for. Their polyam structure was completely different. They were on the same highway but in two different lanes.
Buck surveyed the spice wall and pulled a shimmering purple blend. Magical spices added a kick to his tea, and he thanked Maggie by giving her twenty percent of his earnings. Crystal powders carried magic well and were often safe to consume in small, measured doses.
“Chessie! Stop foolin about, now. I got shit to do.”
The twittering tropical sea bird trilled and flapped his wings until they were no longer visible to the naked eye. The frenetic motion helped the man shift. Watching his transformation was kinda like staring at the sun. Glaring and powerful, an impossible glowing orb evolved into Chessie Tideway.
He was a short, lanky gentleman with burnished brown skin and white freckles. His curly hair and eyes resembled the island waters in which he was born. Warm, shallow tides had been kind to him, giving his complexion a dewiness most paid for. The personable fellow had been his best friend for almost three hundred years.
“Woooo doggie, I tell you!” Chessie ambled on over to the icebox and grabbed them both a chilled longneck. He cracked them open with his sharp teeth and chucked tops into the bin. “Bruh, that house is a piece of shit. I mean, it’s ready for a nice wind.”
“I know it.” After sprinkling the powder over the basket of tea bags, he accepted the frothy, autumnal hops. Clove and Creme were his favorite. “Hawke gon’ catch his death one day behind his trickery.”
Chessie swigged and burped, sitting his bare ass down on the couch nearest to Torti. There wasn’t shit a sprite could do for him, at least nothing Buck could figure.
“So, what you find?” Buck asked.
“What didn’t I find? A charred wicker spider out back, your construction buddies milling about, writing shit down. Then, sometime after sunset, people start peeking into the house. You know that weird white lady who be giving vendors at the farmers market a hard time? Wushuname…uhuh—”
“Sissy Perkins.”
“That’s her, yeah. She was looking all in the window with some other folks. That didn’t seem odd to me until I noticed how all of them was wearing the same bracelets with scribbles on them. Prolly some cult shit.”
Buck snagged his pipe and added the magic powder, clove, Pixie Dash, and dried bubble flower to the bowl. He stuffed, struck a match, and puffed.
“What about the curse?”
“Ohhhhh,” Chessie tipped his beer and tapped Torti on his tiny head. The man screamed and bit the tip of Chessie’s finger. “Tell me you love me.”
Torti made a gagging sound, and his teeny body shuddered. “Even if I liked giants, you wouldn’t even make the top fifty on my To Be Fucked list.”
Buck leaned against the counter, arm under his elbow, holding the pipe to his lips. Smoking was another hobby, one to soothe and mellow. It softened the mind and body, allowing him to create in peace.
“The house got about five curses on it, I’d say. Residuals from the last done spoiled the soil and water. I took a sensor charm up in there, and that motha fucka turned red instantly. Ain’t nothing good ever happened in that house.”
Chessie scoffed and sprang to his feet, heading for the icebox a second time. He threw away the empty bottle, plucked another, and some fruit.
“Back in the day, a warlock lived there. They ran his unhinged ass outta town, but still, don’t nobody know what he did in there. For a while, the mayor wouldn’t let citizens anywhere near it. If I was Ms. Marrow, I’d bulldoze the whole thing, start fresh, and ward the grounds.”
Buck grunted at the thought of all that work. It’d be hell, but quite possibly worth it. Jasper’s safety was important, for whatever reason he’d yet to scrutinize, but refused to ignore what he felt when in her company.

Neon Red: Chapter One

“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!

Neon Red (A Dark MMF Paranormal Romance): An Excerpt

Jaxon Aubrey

After a final hit, he pinched the glowing cherry and stashed the blunt behind his ear. AB then snatched his shirt tails free, unbuttoned, and let the tank work some heavy overtime.
Emerging from the vehicle, he noted a blonde out front who stiffened by the very sight of him.
“Sup?”
She smiled. “Hellooo.”
The tattoo shop was packed with vampires, no doubt. Miss Mini Skirt looked like an employee. Music was loud as he entered goth heaven. Black on black. Everything, save for the counter space and white desktop.
“Oh wow, you’re back…uhhh…” The tall brunette with a short cut squinted. “Jaxon?”
“Nice memory.”
She smirked and nodded. “Come for one yourself this time?”
“Nah, nah. I was wondering if the other,” he lifted a hand to his torso, and she snickered, “short one, is around.”
“Yeah, actually. She’s in the back, getting her stuff.” Pixie Cut turned, then looked back at him. “We’re about to close up.”
“I feel you. I’ll wait.”
The person on his radar returned from wherever she had been.
Ample hips and thighs made him stare. God damn her! Ab thought.
He didn’t know what she was looking for in that bag, but hopefully it was her number.
“Ndari, baby, have you seen my phone?”
“In the POS.”
“Shit, right.” She halted and glanced at her buddy. He couldn’t tell for sure, behind the dark frames. She had Sunglasses At Night fetish, obviously. “Look who it is, Ginger Snaps. I’d love to offer a session, but we are done for the night.”
She marched forward, and he observed a slight limp.
Rummaging through the register, she snorted. “You know wh—giiiiirrl, I don’t remember putting it in there.”
Scatterbrained…unattractive.
Slamming it shut, she said, “So anyway, feel free to make an appointment, Lucky—”
“I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. My Mama doesn’t even call me Lucky Charms.”
Eyes darted as the blonde sashayed behind the counter, and the tall one shook her head.
But Shorty recoiled and said, “You, are a customer in my establishment, and I can refuse service at any time, Irish Cream. I will tase yo big ass. I got one in my purse. You should find someone safe to play with.”
Unclear on how to respond, AB laughed. Her Napoleon complex was strong as fuck.
“Damn, I didn’t come to get tased shit. All I wanted was your number.”
She made an odd croaking sound, looked at her employee, then dove into her purse again. “Why you want my number?”
“So I can text you. Or FaceTime.”
“Fuck FaceTime, I hate Apple.” She paused with the digging and lifted her gaze. “You wanna call me?”
“If that’s okay, I guess. Or not.”
“I—” She sought her girls’ approval, shrugged, and giggled. Ah, insecure. Strike two. She was racking them up quick, but Miss Ma’am didn’t have a thigh gap, and that was his weakness.
Smash and dash. Lick and flip, etc.
“You know what?”
A rude as hell male with no sense of personal space leaned on the counter and smiled at Shorty.
“Wus good, baby. You ready?”
“Yeah, yeah. Uhm…”
“Ohhh, you have a boyfriend.” AB sniffed and threw up his hands. “My fault, you coulda just said that.”
“He’s not, my boyfriend.”
“I ain’t,” the guy blurted, eyes tracing AB’s frame line by line. “You tryna holla, feel free. Let me mind my business, over here.”
He slid to the sitting area, and Jaxon looked back at his current fixation. “Like I was saying, name and number.”
“I think I’ll pass. Oh shit, my Monster.” She scoffed. “I’ll be right back.”
As the female scurried away after rejecting him like a trick, AB admired the wagon.
“Damn, bruh, she curved you quick.”
“You are all up in my space.”
The weird male had crept in beside AB for a second time.
“You don’t own me or the shop.” He chuckled. “The fuck.”
“If y’all aren’t together, what’s the problem?”
The rude gent smiled and checked him yet again. AB snarled. “You got one more time, halfbreed.”
“Aye, bruh, relax. I was just looking, and she ain’t gon’ let you hit…” Licking his lips, the male met AB in the eyes. “But, if it’s back shots you want, I can ease that pain, you feel me.”
Jaxon side-stepped and recoiled. “I’m sorry?”
“Damn, thought I got one. You old as shit, from the smell of it. I assumed—”
“It’s your lack of tact that has me floored, not you making a pass.”
“I didn’t hit on you, Red. I asked if you wanted to cut. Different shit.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” The woman AB had come for briefly considered him, then the other male, who cackled and pushed off the glass.
“Let’s go, baby, we gotta buss some corners before sunrise.”
As she came around, AB stared her down.
Blushing and grinning were good signs.
“So you’re gonna give me nothing?” he asked, as her friend exited. “No. N.O., damn. I know you heard me the first time. Bye, girls, be sure to lock up. You have ten minutes, Jack… or whatever your name is. Shit or get off the pot.”
Her ass and attitude left. With it, Jaxon’s patience. Humiliation and rejection were uncomfortable. It happened, but maybe three times in his whole life. And yes, she would come to regret this. For now, he’d find a willing soul who’d crawl through shards and salt to suck his dick.

Frosty and Frigid: An Excerpt

From playful to penetrating, Coco’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I have plenty of bags left, but I have a proposition for you.”
“Really?”
His smile somehow possessed a smug edge Tatum didn’t find the least bit amusing.
“Yup.”
“What do you have in mind, Coco?”
“You let me help with this grinchy outlook you have about Christmas and for each success, I’ll give you ten bags of cookies.”
Hope flared in the center of her chest. Tatum set her mug down as Coco whipped out his towel and polished the absurd sticker-clad bar top.
“How many days are we talking?”
“Until you leave,” Coco said, back to her, preparing another cup.

It provided the perfect view of his ass, shoulders, and thick braid. Goddess, could she even get her hand around it? Tatum wanted to warp it around her knuckles while she pegge—
“Wait, until I leave?” Tatum questioned, finding his suggestion outlandish and horrid.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“It’s a snowy, ski town, what the hell is there to do here?”
He quietly considered her inquiry and gnawed on his lip. The fidgeting and silence concerned her.
“Weelll, this is Snowdrift. There’s lots to do during this time of year.
I can tell you who to see and where to go.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me with this, Coco?”
He nodded with a tight grin. “Yeah, I am. I will. Because you need my holiday cheer, Tatum. You’re sorely lacking. But we’re gonna get you singing Christmas carols in no time.”
“I won’t be doing that.”
Coco giggled and shook his head. “To be so grumpy you sure are funny, Tatum.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Oh I know.”
Coco wiped counters and prepared a few more steaming drinks while Tatum muller on what she should do. Undiluted happiness was on the line, here. Coco basically had a knife to her throat. Those cookies changed the game and her life. For a short time k, they delivered what she’d missed for the last two years.
Tatum needed to take some home, and the only way to do that was to go along with his his stupid ass plan.
“Fine,” Tatum clipped. She gulped cooling magic in a mug and fought the sudden urge to hug Coco. He should be paid for this shit.

Coming Dec. 2026

Frosty and Frigid is a Christmas elf romance with a light heart. It’s MF with queer characters and fat positive themes. It’s low-conflict, spicy and still in draft! I’m so excited and can’t wait for you folks to read it.

What to expect:

Christmas magic

Cookie talk

Christmas cheer

Cookie and Peppermint kink

Hot chocolate

A romantic snowy setting in the mountains

Small town magic

Grumpy/Sunshine

Two elves falling in love

Black and Brown MC’s

Chapter 15: How To Catch That Fade

CW: Physical violence

Finding a Voaremont wasn’t hard with two brothers living in town. And Trevor was one of them. This tiny detail pleased Buck to no end. He loved the idea of this bitch being close by. It’d be easier to keep an eye on him as well. Everybody knew where this particular Voaremont lay his greasy head because he was a prodigious braggart.
The second largest Indigo Plains estate sat on the east side, five minutes from town center. The brick and mortar pre-fae manor was a monstrosity.
Buck posted up a block down from the Voaremont estate with four stale bear claws and a steaming cup of sweet sandalwood mint tea. It was decent for a gas station blend, but still tasted like a dollar twenty-five. He didn’t complain in a crunch.
Accepting a long wait time, Buck eased his seat back and turned on something nice. He tore into his first bear claw and sipped, wondering what his wife and Jasper were getting into. He thought to text her when them gates cracked open.
“Okay now, where you off to, boy?”
Buck stuffed the second pastry in his mouth and started the engine as an SUV rolled onto Birch Drive. He had no idea where the bastard was going, but stayed on his behind. Ten minutes later, their trip came to a halt near Rackers Bowl.
He figured Voaremont was in the mood for a few strikes the moment he pulled into the parking lot. Everything was pretty normal aside from the fact that Nieema’s pick-up was in the same god damn lot.
“Son of a bitch.”
Buck snapped his gum and bristled. Parking in the back, he killed the rumbling motor and hopped out. With his eye twitching, he beelined for Trevor but stopped short as a familiar face appeared. They pointed to Nieema’s truck and were rewarded with a handful of big bills.
He’d been right, Voaremont had eyes on Jasper. It was always odd how people who claimed to be family were the first ones to stab you in the fucking face. Her cousin was a god damn rat. This wasn’t anything new, and it was a note he’d save for later. Trevor was his main concern, and when Juel left, Buck rushed for the man.
He was tall, wide, and built like an oak, everything Buck loved in a man. Despite his stature, the bitch was homely with ragged, deep-set scars across his cheek.
Now, on a normal day, a gentleman with battle scars turned Buck on, but tonight, he’d add to the canvas if shit got rocking steady.
No preamble or warning, Buck sidled up to the human and punched him in the liver. Trevor doubled over, and Buck locked an arm around his neck, smiling at a passerby.
“Evenin’ ma’am. He’s a lightweight, them long islands did his poor soul in.” The woman frowned and hurried into the bowling alley. “You and me gonna have a little talk, Trevor.”
He gasped for air and gagged.
“If you even think to hack it on my boots, I’ll make you clean every last drop with your tongue. Look at me, now.”
Buck pushed the wheezing, red-faced man into his truck, the door warping. He waited impatiently for Voaremont to breathe and recover.
“Who—“ Trevor paused to cough and spit. “Who the hell are you?”
“Me? I’m a daisy pretty boy, but I hit harder than a cinder block. Imma tell you this one good time. And I hope your dense ass hears me well, stay the fuck, away from Jasper Marrow.”
That got the young man’s attention. Trevor may have had graying temples, laugh lines, and dry skin, but Buck had him by six hundred years. Mr Voaremont was a sapling. A dead and dying sapling cursed with a ferocious fungal infection.
“Wai—how—who are you to her?”
“The last thing you need to be worried about is me. Motha fucka worry about your health and well-being. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
Buck slapped the shit out of the fragile human, drawing blood. Trevor smelled like an abuser. And yes, they held a scent. The bone-deep odor gave them away every single time. As dark fae connected to organic matter on a base level, Buck sensed these things. Nature as a whole knew a leeching parasite when they saw one.
Cracking his gum, Buck stepped over the slumped wretch and hustled into Rackers. A couple of sets was just what he needed right about now.
Music, neon lights, and fried food hit him first. That nostalgic aroma stained flat, retro carpet and leather booths. Rackers had been a part of Indigo Plains for seventy years. They were known for ice cold tap, grease-dripping chicken strips, and frothy blood. Folks all around town decompressed by picking a lane.
The atmosphere was thick with happiness and fun-filled vibes. He loved cosmic night and wanted to join whatever game Nieema had going. Maybe he could even raise the stakes.
“Look who it is!” Karl slapped the faded counter covered in stickers. “Don’t you look riled.”
“I ain’t, not yet.”
“Mmhm, lie to somebody else, cowboy. I got lunch in an hour if you need something.” Karl’s dark, sateen wings fluttered as he went to sucking on a rod of rock candy. Cherry was his favorite.
Karl snickered and piped, “A big ass thirteen!”
“How you know my size, Kay?”
“You forget how I tied your hefty behind to the bed?”
“When? Last year?”
“We need to jog that memory of yours, handsome.” Karl accepted the shoes and offered them. “Call me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Grabbing his shoes, Buck winked then spotted his group on lane fifteen. Lady Luck was already on his side with their choice destination. Fifteen had won him well over ten grand thus far.
As Buck donned his shoes, he kept tabs on Nieema and how she admired Jasper. He knew the woman better than anyone; there was more to her grin than amusement. She wanted something quick and tough. Jasper wouldn’t be the one to give it, not yet.
Before he tied the last knot, Nieema lifted her nose and caught his scent. Her glowing focus flared the moment she found him. Buck tipped his hat. Nieema smiled and tapped Jasper on the shoulder.
On his swift approach, the succubus pivoted and startled. “Oh my undergods, who invited you?”
“I don’t need no invite.”
Buck gripped Nima’s nape and tugged her over. His greedy, hungry kiss was welcome and returned. The lovely vampire devoured him on the spot. Stopping his heart, she supplied the same love and affection. After a hundred years, them pesky monarchs in his belly waged war the moment their lips touched.
Roe clapped and grumbled, “Okayyyy, can we get back to the game?”
They shared a laugh, smiles ending their lip action.
“It’s good to see you, boy!” Buck pulled Roe into a hug. “You gotta get out more. Why, when something happens, you wanna show your face, huh? I invite you to every tea party I have.”
Roe slipped away and grimaced. “I hate tea, you know this. We got over it every—“
“Yeah, and the last time I nearly knocked ya god damn fangs out. Who don’t like tea?!”
The haughty vampire flipped his hair and went for a ball. “Anyway, let’s focus.”
“It’s not gonna do you any good,” Jasper said. “I’m cleaning house. So far, I’ve won two hundred dollars and a free meal.”
Buck popped gum, slid back, and skimmed the scoreboard. “Oooooweee! You lighting ‘em up.”
“Take it easy,” Nieema warned. “She ain’t that good.”
“Please, woman, she handed you that ass, and I do mean quick.”
Roe rolled his eyes and examined his claws. “But who’s in second place?”
“I’ll give you that.” Buck shook his head and tapped the screen to wipe the slate clean. “And my baby died last. It’s all good, you a champ where it counts, suga.”
“Fuck outta here! Start the game, you old oak.”
“She’s scary competitive,” Jasper said.
“It was worse when we were younger, but bowling has never been her game.”
Buck glanced at Jasper and considered her posture. Relaxed and arrogant, the spark in her copper eyes burning.
“You wanna put something on it?” Buck asked, watching her and checking for the right ball. “Up the stakes? I got something better than money.”
Her full, plum-stained lips twitched and lifted into a wry smile. It was a predatory promise,
“Sure.”
Jasper rose with grace only a succubus possessed. Her confident stride emboldened him to inch closer, testing her mettle. Jasper reached for the ball behind his, forcing herself into Buck’s personal space.
The perfume unique to a flirtatious succubus wafted. He fell victim to her intoxicating demon magic and growled.
“If you win,” Jasper started, her lilt like chords in a symphony, “you’ll have one chance to impress me. If I win, you never try me again, and you will leave me the fuck alone. Both of you. Like I said, I know what men want.”
Buck chuckled and snapped gum, their eye contact holding. She was a sentient fire. Living and breathing to burn all asunder. He wanted to stoke her flame.
Feed it.
“I’ll take that bet,” Buck whispered, a hairsbreadth away from physical contact. “When you start crying, I want you to remember this moment.”
Jasper snatched her ball and cackled. “Yeah, okay. Tired, played. Men make the same vows. You are simple-minded. All have failed to sway and shock me. You’re one of many, Buck. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Chilllleeeee.” Nieema wagged a finger and said, “You know what? Let me be quiet, cause—Jasper, the last thing you wanna do is piss this man off. Dial it back. He gon’ need to break somebody back, and I ain’t in the mood.”
His wife knew how them words were a quick way to get tied, strung up, and fucked into a coma. Buck glared and grabbed his lucky ball. Nieema threw up hands and allowed him the first break.
He didn’t want to intimidate Jasper, but she was full of shit, heat, and bluster. As their eyes locked once again, he stepped to the line and pulled back. Buck released the ball with the roll of his fingers. The green, shimmering orb was an extension of his irritation.
Seconds later, pins clattered on pine. Jasper’s jaw hung loose as she blinked, staring at the lane. At her side, Buck stopped with centimeters between them and whispered in her ear. “You ain’t the first succubus who has doubted me. I know where allat hubris leads.”
She made certain not to meet his gaze and shivered. He liked how Jasper went for her necklaces and flicked at them. This was a good sign, and he’d celebrate these small victories by winning a date with the petty demoness.

I wanted to take this time to once again thank you. Y’all are so patient with me, and i love that most. I want to start leaving author’s notes just to let you know how thankful I am that you took the time to read my little story. With that being said, we are moving along, and let me tell you, Buck is steadily surprising me. I’m about eight chapters ahead, and he is shining. He’s falling for the demon and quick. The old man isn’t afraid to speak his mind or disturb the peace. He will burn the world for the people he cares about.

Guess what? I’m Giving Away My Book For Free!!

Hello! Happy Bisexual Visibility Day and happy Fall Equinox! This is the day I’ve been waiting for since summer started. I’m sure most of you know how much I hate May-August, especially living in a desert town. I can’t stand it. Fiery red and goldenrod leaves are what I need. A cool night with a hot cup of cider and a good smutty book does wonders for my mental state.
There is nothing I love more than a cloudy morning and the promise of rain. And in celebration of this wonderful seasonal change, I have decided to set up a new promotion for my book, The Huntsman and The Fox, which is FREE for a limited time on the zon. If you’re ever in the mood for some cozy MM paranormal romance, then go ahead and download it. Save it for later, that’s what I do.
Anyway, thank you for your time and continued support. Y’all are awesome, stay great humans!

Chapter 14: The Raven Queen

CW: Talk of domestic violence and attempted murder. There is a little rehashing, but not much. As always, if you have to skip this bit, please do. If you’d like a summary , feel free to let me know,

Catching Monroe Thornbill with his pants down wasn’t new. Nieema didn’t bat an eye as his favorite piece of arm candy hurried from their spot between his legs and scrambled to their feet.
Nila was a whip-thin young vampire who smelled like vanilla bean and clove. Cheeks flush and lips glistening, they squared broad shoulders then bowed.
“Majesty.”
“Nila honey, how’s your mother?”
“In good spirits… considering.”
“Send my love.”
“I will.”
With that, they scurried off and closed the door behind them. A muffled thud gave Nieema the go-ahead.
“You ain’t working too hard, I see.”
“Girl, you know the shit I deal with down here. Please. I need something to take the edge off.”
“You’re supposed to be working, not getting head on the clock like some raggedy, uncouth dungeon troll! I aughta tear your hide, Monroe.”
The male scoffed and flipped his apricot, hip-length tresses. The boujee knowitall kept his hair flat and straight like an uppity Lightbridge faerie trollop. Nieema hated how the lovely shade made his dark skin glow. She’d never get away with orange. Copper, hell yeah. Clementine? Never.
The man was prettier than she but not too bright. That’s why she was queen; Monroe being ten years older didn’t mean shit to their daddy.
“Yeeees, I’ve missed you too, Nimmy. How are you? How is Buck? It’s been a while.”
She softened hearing her nickname. “I’m serious, Roe, what kinda example are you setting?“
“Please, Mother lectures me enough.” He smoothed lapels and scooted forward, focusing on what appeared to be blueprints. “I don’t need this shit from you, too. Besides domestic quarrels, drunken fights, and blood lust fever, I have nothing else to do. We are good down here, Nimmy. I got shit covered.”
“And what about beyond these walls?”
Monroe’s brows creased as he pinned a quizzical gaze upon her. “What about it?”
“There are demon hunters on the loose in Misthill.”
“Bullshit!”
“I wish it was.”
Roe’s derisive laughter was a joy to hear. It meant he was now in a foul mood, and given how his red eyes flared, someone would pay for their crimes.
“Do we have proof?” Roe asked.
“A witness, first-hand account.”
Nieema gestured to Jasper, and Roe glanced in her direction. He wasn’t the sort to know or keep demonic friends. Being burned rather badly by one turned him off completely, and every demon wore the face of his greatest regret. Nieema expected Roe to bristle at the sight of Jasper’s smile, but the exact opposite happened.
He smirked and spoke directly to a demon for the first time in probably fifteen years.
“RedMothStitch.”
“Oh my goood,” Jasper whispered, eyes now on the floor.
“Red what?”
“She’s a gamer,” Roe supplied, still smirking. “My son follows you.”
“You are?” Nieema asked.
As Jasper’s cheeks darkened, she twiddled with her necklaces. Nieema wanted to soothe her somehow. She was an anxious dame, and for good reason.
“Sometimes. It’s nothing big. A hobby. I only have two hundred followers and haven’t streamed since… well, you know.”
“I’ve seen your tips, Red Stitch.”
“I collect coin easy cause I’m pretty.”
Roe’s arched brow spoke to his amusement. Nieema grunted, unwilling to watch him reel Jasper in.
“We need to talk about this hunting business, Monroe.”
“Indeed.”
Nieema crossed the expansive office any staunch bureaucratic snake would love and dropped anchor on an uncomfortable leather sofa. Roe had old-world tastes, habits, and desires. He was obsessed with crystal decanters, aged scotch, and oil paintings. He didn’t own a phone or a television.
Roe still read the paper and loved classical music. He was stuck in the past, but refused to ride a horse.
As Jasper settled next to her, Monroe offered Nieema a warm glass of spiced blood.
“Thank youuuu. This the cinnamon one?” Nieema asked, scenting clove, cardamom, and luxe spice.
“Of course, imported from Southern Bruex.”
“Ohhhh, them desert fairies know how to blend, don’t they?”
“Always.”
Roe sat in his favorite high-backed chair with its worn cushions and scratched frame, swirling his glass.
“I apologize, ma’am. All I got is blood.”
“It’s fine. But I prefer Jasper over ma’am.”
“Noted.” Nieema sipped while Roe relaxed and Jasper fidgeted with her skirt. “So, tell me, what exactly happened and who tried to kill you?”
By the time Jasper finished talking, Nieema wanted his head. Trevor Voarmont was a piece of shit. A controlling, manipulative bastard. In her sleep. He’d tried to snuff her flame during a peaceful slumber. How cruel and cowardly. The only reason Jasper survived was due to her biology. The human hadn’t worn his protection charm that night, and Jasper had careened into survival mode.
After kicking his ass and scarring him for life, she vanished in a puff of smoke. This unique, involuntary fleeing response saved Jasper’s life.
Nieema stared at the raging fire nestled into a massive hearth. It was for aesthetic purposes only, lacking both heat and sound. Seemed harmless in such a cozy state. Some folks might think it was now safe to touch. Wrong! Complacency was a disease. For many moons, people like Trevor watched their step around Nieema. They respected her rule and dared not cross Her Majesty The Raven Queen. But time and shit had softened her a bit.
She didn’t wear armor, a cape, or wield a flaming axe anymore, but Nieema was still a fucking threat. As always, they’d learn the hard way.
“Nimmy, this is… sensitive. As you know, the Voaremonts are not your everyday citizens. They have connections from here to Brasshorne. They own the largest shipping company in the world.”
“They own half the rail line, too,” Jasper added. “This is why I just said fuck it. Trevor is the youngest of five brothers, but he is the smartest. His father won’t allow him to be—“
“No one allows me to do anything, my dear,” Nieema asserted. She dragged attention from Jasper to Roe.
“I don’t give a right fuck who they are, what they own, or who is in their pocket. I am the queen of Ravensguard, and when I declare law, I expect all to follow. It is in our Right of Life creed. No one is to hunt on Ravensguard soil, ever. If convicted, it is punishable by death. Without exception.”
White hot fury boiled in her veins and forced Nieema to her feet. She slammed her glass on the mantle, fixed her tie, and growled. The thought of anyone bearing arms and hunting turned her ferak, foregoing civility,
More often than not, Nieema ruled from afar. She didn’t meddle in her people’s business and gave them the freedom to be whomever they wanted to be. She kept them fed and healthy. It was stressful and difficult, but she had a great team. They had a competent council and expendable funds for a thriving nation.
But what she would not tolerate, under any circumstances, were hunters.
Vermin, pigs, vile beasts.
“When that god damn seal broke…” Nieema glared at a black and white family portrait. The Thornbill line was large, at one point, with well over one hundred members and six generations. There were only twenty-five of them left now. “When the human world went to shit, they decided hunting us for sport was a good idea. A lucrative business, their leaders said. We lived in peace with them for a millennium. When worlds collided, everything changed for the worse.”
Nieema faced her brother and let it be known. “I will not allow it! I refused to have anyone hunted like game in the very land our family rebuilt. I will not stand by and let a faction rise. Not as I live and breathe. I swear to Desidion, I will kill every last one if need be. You gotta get ahead of this, Roe. Because they don’t want me on they ass, I’ll cut ‘em down to the quick.”
Her brother lifted a hand and nodded. “I’ll go to Misthill and speak with the governor first. You sit tight til I get back. And I mean it, Nimmy. A war with the Voaremonts could bring Indigo Plains and Ravensguard to its knees.”
Nieema huffed, shaking her head. “I don’t want a war, Monroe. I need to find whoever is killing the supernatural in my kingdom and send them to the gallows.”
“Gallows?” Roe chuckled and crossed his legs. He watched Jasper and fiddled with his rings. “She says I live in the past.”
“I don’t want to make trouble for anyone,” Jasper said, picking at her claws. “I only wanted a quiet, lonely life. Where Trevor would never find me. I don’t want anyone else getting involved.“
“You don’t worry about us,” Roe supplied. “We know how to disarm the masses without making a mess.”
“I don’t want to create a mess either.”
“You, didn’t,” Nieema stressed, heading for a fully stocked wet bar. She refilled her glass with Golden Barrel Batch blood and went on. “Trevor and his bitch ass raggedy friends did. Do you know them by name, his friends?”
“Yeah.”
“This is good,” said Roe. “We can stop them and their affiliates.”
After a brief stir, Nieema returned to Jasper’s side.
“These events would have reached me somehow. If not you, then somebody else. I got eyes everywhere. And Jasper, I’ll put money on you not being the first or the last victim.”
The air around Jasper shifted, hardened. Nieema tasted her vexation and loved how sweet she smelled because of it. Syrup-soaked black cherries came to mind. Resolve sparkled within her ember gaze.
“You’re right.” She nodded and perked. “You’re so god damn right, and I hadn’t even—shit, I never even stopped to think about the others. Trevor is middle-aged. There’s no telling how many have come before me and disappeared?”
“Exactly,” Roe whispered.
“Let’s do it. I want to take him down. Let’s kill the mother fucker.”
Nieema laughed, set her glass on the end table, and matched Jasper’s stare. “Don’t worry, we will, but in the meantime, I need you to stick to my ribs. Stay close to me. Can you do that, dear?”
“Depends on where we are. I like my space and solitude. But if we’re out? Exceptions can be made.”
“Good, I like you by my side.”
Jasper scoffed, her brow arched. “You are not clever, Mrs Sunside.”
“That’s what they all say, until…” Nieema smirked while the succubus’s jaw ticked. “Roe?”
“Yes, Nimmy.”
“You wanna go bowling?”
“You want an ass whooping tonight?”
“Fuck you, tramp,” Nieema piped. She sought her brother’s wide smile and stood on ten toes. “I’ll wipe the floor with you. Hows ‘bout we get in a couple of games, winner buys lunch.”
Jasper stood and rubbed her hands together. “I do love a free meal.”
“Ha!” Roe grabbed his suit jacket and led the way. “You gon’ learn today, demon.”

The End!

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!