Neon Red: Chapter 6

Tracy missed newspaper stands and bookstores. Those days were sadly gone. 2028 was the year of digital re-branding and a paperless boom. Printing presses were shutting down all over. A tree hugger’s dream come true. Of course, you could still read the Sunday Times, for a ridiculous monthly fee. Paywalls and dollar signs were the wave of the future if you sought to know anything of substance. Horse shit.
A paper used to cost ten cents. Now, twenty bucks, and he had to scroll or swipe. Kindles were a joy, but sometimes, he rather the aroma of ink and parchment. Tracy sighed in defeat, returned to the latest issue of Forbes and… swiped left. Tech start-ups were the rage. Tracy pondered on it for a spell, but knew nothing about technology aside from phones and e-readers. He still owned an LCD TV and a Gateway desktop that had seen far too many repairs.
Tracy was having a swell moment with his espresso, reading material, and Bossa jazz, until Max, made her presence known for the fourth time. She groaned and undoubtedly wanted something.
Placing his cup on a saucer, he eyed the girl. “Sit up, child.” She sighed again, but did as instructed. “And take those ridiculous shades off at the table. Good god, you know better.”
It was akin to watching an adolescent pick at food they had no intention of eating. Sliced bone in ham, poached eggs, blueberry scones, and fresh strawberries could have been worse. Not to mention Jaya went through the trouble of cooking. “I hope you eat what she has painstakingly prepared.”
“Yes, I am.”
“What’s wrong, Maxine?”
Her eyes and head lifted. “I wanna go somewhere.”
“Like where? Orlando?”
“No,” she snipped, staring at a full plate. “Like, a trip.”
Tracy’s lips thinned as an arched brow spoke of his displeasure. “You know that’s out of the question.”
“And why, exactly?”
“Because it’s not safe.”
“For whom?” she asked, crossing her arms, defiant as ever. Maxine had always been a handful, since the day she learned to walk. “I’m almost a centennial.”
“Age has absolutely nothing to do with this. Hunters are running rampant. They are free to do as they please, and kill indiscriminately. I rather not risk—”
“You travel all the time,” she countered.
“For work, and you know that.”
Fork and knife in hand, Tracy sliced into his chickpea and mushroom omelet. A subject change was a splendid idea, as he would not budge on the matter. Ever. Besides, her presence was direly needed.
“How many customers did you have last night?” Tracy asked.
“I don’t know, I was off.”
He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and draped the fine material over his crossed legs. “It’s Friday, which means you were off three days in a row.”
“The shop can take care of itself. Ndari is technically the manager while Tilt is on vacation.”
“I understand,” he said, holding his tongue. “But your job is to ensure everything is in working order. We will be audited soon.”
She dropped arms and returned to her meal. “Why are you just now telling me?”
“It slipped my mind quite honestly. Tedious business. I sifted through mounds of paperwork for hours, to no avail. So, I hired someone.”
“Like an accou…”
Tracy narrowed his gaze, warning made clear. “Do not, talk with your mouth full. It’s uncouth and not how a woman behaves.”
Most probably assumed she was raised in an unkempt, rowdy home. No, never that. Far from it. This was Maxine’s way of acting out because she knew he disproved of tattoos, piercings and the hair. By god, it reminded him of rebellious punks. White and turquoise tresses turned the girl into a spectacle.
She’d sullied herself so much, at this point, there was no going back. Anything in the corporate world was out the realm of possibility. No one would hire a woman with the word ‘manifest’ riding her left brow.
His daughter had two options, the tattoo shop or marry high. The latter had been a tough road to traverse.
“So, you hired an accountant?” Maxine asked.
“Indeed.” As a bit of espresso washed down the omelet, Tracy smiled at Jaya’s approach. “Ah, you are a gem. Thank you.”
“Nooo problem,” she sang, offering two steaming mugs of b-positive. “Figured you’d need it.”
“Why don’t you join us, Jaya? You’ve made more than enough.”
She assessed their set up and shrugged. “I guess. I was gonna go for a swim in a minute, but I could eat.”
Tracy, ever the chivalrous type, pushed out her chair.
“Look at you, Tracy. Thank you.”
“You are very welcome, here…” Being of use, he grabbed two scones and dropped them on her plate then added a thick slice of ham. She didn’t like strawberries, so he left those, but slid a poached egg in there as well.
“Thanks.” Jaya beamed.
Tracy nodded and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Cheeks heating to a degree, he pulled away and looked to Maxine. She was amused.
Clearing his throat, Tracy handled the mug and downed its contents. Nectar of the gods. Their very own fountain of youth. Blood kept them spry and lively. He enjoyed feeding more than any other pleasure. It was better than sex. Or so he recalled such. It’d been years… decades since…
Tracy swallowed the last drop along with unpleasant memories.
“Delightful,” he announced.
“You might have tasted it if you slowed down.” Jaya smiled and he followed suit.
“It was delicious.”
“I know,” Jaya said, with a frown. “I don’t like vegans, their blood is thin. But it’s fresh as all heck.”
“Yes, indeed. That’s why I prefer it.”
“Fattier the better, in my opinion,” Max interrupted.
“You love a decent hearty sip, honey.” Jaya leaned over and lightly pinched the girl’s cheek.
Tracy found her affection satisfying. It was good to know Max received comfort from someone. He wasn’t a toucher, a feeler, or a hugger. The experience was nauseating. Tracy avoided affections as if they’d cause him harm.
“So, Dad. This accountant, can you trust them?”
“With what?” She stared and blinked. “Ah, yes. I doubt he’ll find anomalies and if so, people and silence can be bought.”
“That seems risky,” Jaya replied, voice echoing her concern.
“I assure you, all is well.” Tracy polished off the espresso and dabbed his lips once more. “They’ll be here shortly, in fact.”
“Here?” Max questioned.
“Yes, is that a problem?”
She shrugged and bit into a strawberry. “It feels counter productive. Too many eyes and ears. After what happened last week, I think you should be cautious.”
Tracy recoiled. “No one is more wary than I.”
Jaya nearly lost her apple juice and his daughter sniggered.
“I am.”
“You try to be,” Max hedged. “But we don’t even have an alarm system in this house. Which, I have said, is a bad idea. Since like, forever.”
“Like… forever?” Tracy mocked, in his best Valley Girl accent. “You kids these days and the word ‘like’.”
“Morgan Freeman is younger than me.”
Jaya laughed and he smirked at the slight. “So truuuue and he’s been old for a long ass time.”
“Jaya,” He chuckled, steadied himself and made certain to remain composed.
“I’m serious, she looks great. Being older than Father Time.”
Maxine and Jaya got a good laugh as the doorbell chimed. Their illustrious caretaker rose with haste, Tracy stopped her. “I’ll get it, you eat.”
“Fine by me.”
On the way, he stroked his cashmere sweater vest and snapped the hem. When satisfied, he yanked the door wide and smiled. “Ah yes, Mr. Aubrey.”
The towering male clutched his palm and entered. “What a magnificent home you have.”
“It’s modest,” Tracy added. And it was, before he and Jaya remodeled every square inch.
“So, would you like coffee, warm red, or a snack, before we begin?”
Mr. Aubrey spun with eyes high and nodded. “I’ll take caffeine, six lumps and extra cream.”
Liquid sugar it is.
“Sure, follow me. I’ll have something made for you.”
“Splendid.”
They weaved through formal dining and crossed into the kitchen, where Maxine gasped. “Is you fuckin’ with me right now?!”
“Maxine!” Tracy shouted. Jaya shot to her feet in a hurry. She had better calm the girl.

Hoe. Lean. Shit. This must be a joke. No way in hell.
“So I turn you down, and you follow me home?!” The chair screeched as she hopped to. Her five-foot nothing ass glared behind dark frames. He knew it. The sneer was unmatched. “You have nerve. This some stalker shit. I’ll call the cop—have you been stalking me?!”
“Maxine Bissette, by god. You calm down this instant.”
“Dad, he’s a predator.”
“What?” Tracy snapped, confused as hell.
“Get him outta here, Jaya.” Short Stack was audacious stepping to him. “Or I’ll cut his ass.”
This girl behind the sunglasses might provoke him to say some crazy shit. He didn’t enjoy her disrespect or the scene. As an old, Purevian, or Pureblood, as the world called them, this was top-tier challenging behavior.
But… AB bit his tongue. ‘Cause he loved money. No matter how small the amount.
Tracy grunted and said, “He is the accountant I hired. You’ve mistaken this gentleman for someone else, I fear, and, humiliated him.”
A distinct clicking in her mouth riled an extra dose of curiosity. Steel and enamel, was it?.
“He’s—yo—you? Mhm. You hired him?”
“Yes.”
She nodded and glanced at a tall, hovering female. “Wooooow.” Back to him, she shrugged. “Small world, huh?”
AB grinned. “Very.”
“Well, I’ll leave you tw—”
“Apologize.”
She groaned at Tracy’s demand but AB appreciated it. Basking in the moment, he lifted his chin and waited for her loud mouth self to say sorry.
“Dad, I don’t think that is really nec—”
“In my house, you will apologize after spitting vulgarities and accusing someone of crimes not committed.”
Her head bobbed from left to right as arms crossed. She huffed and muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“For?” Tracy prompted.
“Imsorryforcussingandaccusingyouofstalkingme. Can I go now?”
When her father slashed a hand, she vanished, sprinting away. An elegant floral scent swirled, tickling his fancy.
“My goodness, Mr. Aubrey, I do so apologize.”
“Jaxon, please.”
“I haven’t the words, Jaxon.” He paused for a tick, brows furrowing. “My daughter lacks decorum and etiquette. I don’t know where it came from. Jaya, will you please prepare our guest a cup of coffee? Five sugars and extra cream.”
“Coming right up.”
“Oh, is this the wife?”
Tracy winced and chuckled. His hazel eyes dilated and the female dropped a saucer. They were nervous. Cute.
“No, no. I uh, no.” Tracy snickered again. “My dearest died years ago.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”
He dismissed the condolence and pivoted. “Jaya, he will be in my office.”
“Okay.” Her high pitched reply was adorable. They were onto something. AB smelled it in the air.
“Shall we?”
They cut a u-turn and AB trailed. He took quick notice of large comfy couches, a mounted seventy-inch TV and a fire ass recliner in the family room. Tracy lived the good life. White walls and dark stone. Medieval with a modern twist, if that was a thing.
Keeping on course, they trekked across the foyer and he clocked a sumptuous formal area. Sofa, coffee table and armchairs. AB checked everything and quickly established a median income. This gave him something to work with. The house ran an easy mil, at least, maybe one-point-seven. Tracy could afford one-forty an hour. Hell yeah.
On their way down a compact hallway, he felt like a rat in a shoe box. This was an old floorplan. Passing a closed door stinking of flowers, AB gathered a deep breath. That was her space. ‘Max’s’ room. Funny how he got her name anyway. A
nd the way it happened blew is fucking mind.
Small world and beyond.
As their journey ended in the office, AB dropped his Botega on the desk and suddenly remembered what it felt like to sleep in a coffin. The stuffy, confined feeling intensified by the second. Tracy was unorganized, a hoarder, perhaps. It wasn’t uncommon for their kind to collect things. Hoarding their loot and gold pieces like sleeping dragons.
Papers and books were strewn about in piles and on the floor.
Ohhh god damn it! Jaxon knew before Tracy even opened the gates of hell what this was about.
“And here are my files.”
“Excellent,” AB chimed, though screaming inside while his blood boiled. Why the fuck, would you throw financial records in plastic tubs?! “I need you to be aware, that my hourly rate will need to be augmented. This is stodgy, wearisome work and will take me at least a week to sort proper.”
“Whatever you want.”
AB’s eye twitched. “Ballpark? Two-hundred dollars an hour, but that might change.”
“Sure.”

The tide changed swiftly. This particular equation wasn’t adding up. Tracy had a million-dollar spot, a Jeep, a Rav-4, and a lowly Lexus out front. The cost of living in this neighborhood was highhh. Upkeep and utilities. Mr. Bissette had a maid, for Christs sake. He couldn’t afford two- hundred bones an hour for a week. Which translated to 14k, maybe more. If AB milked overtime, and he would, because cream that thick got his dick hard.
“Okay, let me get started.” Wagging a finger, AB smirked. “I’m going to need that coffee.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh and Tracy, if you don’t mind, may I tidy a bit? I’ll make certain you’ll know where everything is.”
“Whatever you must do, feel free.”
“Greeeeat. Thank you so much.”
Tracy nodded and hit the exit as AB observed the trash heap. There was no reason for it to look like this. None. He removed the TF suit jacket, vest, and tie. After rolling sleeves, AB dug in a pocket for his buds and shoved them in each ear.
Play No Games was a winner, so he kept it. Big Sean had classics. “Where to start is the question.”
The desk was overwhelmed with notebooks and journals. He wouldn’t invade Tracy’s privacy, so he stacked them tower style. From largest to smallest. Bills were stashed in the file cabinet he alphabetized. Then, the planners. Why keep them? “What the fu—”
He grunted at the unnecessary clutter and moved them to the bookshelf housing biographies and novels on the African American struggle. Some AB had read himself. James Baldwin was a masterclass, and Maya Angelou was his favorite poet, next to Langston.
He dusted shelves and sorted. Paperbacks and hardcovers weren’t to touch. This wasn’t his house, but that shit drove him up the fucking wall. He went by last name, as was expected.
When finished, the eight-foot oak behemoth looked better. AB accomplished said tasks in under ten minutes; vampire abilities were a godsend.
A knock forced him to pause, Hall and Oats, and greet the hostess.
“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Aubrey. I apologize for the wait.” She placed his beverage on the desk and shrugged. “I had to clean a few other things.”
“No biggie, thank you.”
“Thank yo—I mean, you’re wellcooome.”
She blushed. He was used to such behaviors.
“Jaya, right?”
“Yeah, you remembered.”
From fifteen minutes ago.
“Sure did.”
She was pretty, gorgeous even. Long, dark spirals flanked classical features. Green eyes, freckles, and a sepia complexion. No wonder Tracy was smitten.
“Okay…uhhh, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Yes. I may need more coffee, though.”
“I’ll set a pot aside just for you. And by the way, nice job.” She gestured at his work. “I have never seen it this clean. Tracy won’t let me touch his things.”
“Well, Mr. Bissette didn’t have a choice with me.” He smiled and she turned coy.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she recited again.
“Alrighty.”
Jaya backed out and waved. He lifted a hand and sighed when she vanished. “0ookay.” AB went for the dainty teacup and growled at a black hole. “I really hate you.” In an act of war, folders slid from the pile and fluttered onto the floor face down. “You mangy bitch. This is some good coffee. Sheesh.”
He drank the rest in one gulp and set it aside. AB fixated on the battlefield and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do the damned thing.” Sitting cross-legged in the closet, he pulled out shit.
Fifteen boxes, six briefcases, and three full tubs. AB snagged a manila folder and skimmed. Taxes. A home he no longer owned. Great. Throwing that, he found another. House number two, three, four, five…more followed.
“What the hell.”
His turnover rate was quick. Every two years. That was mad moves. A lot of waste, honestly. No way he got a decent return. The tub gained his interest. And you know whaaaaat? Tracy bought tons of property and sold it post haste. Gaining with some, losing with others. Maybe he flipped houses or some shit. A vampire keeping equity for an extended period turned the waters murky.
Boats, yachts, vacation homes. He had to have a digital trail. It was unavoidable these days, and activity of this sort might raise some eyebrows. Those of the human persuasion. Hm.
Setting aside his suspicion, AB compiled it.
Equity and depreciating assets.
There was a lot and some of it wasn’t even in his name. Probably an alias, which may have saved his ass more than once. Even AB had three names on deck. Jaxon Aubrey was dead on paper.
To everyone else, he was Barton Sparks, Alexander Urchin, or Tucker Roberts. He’d be Jaxon again, in fifty years or so. It was the closest to Jack he’d ever get, seeing as he’d left the boy in Ireland eons ago. With speed and efficiency, AB formed neat stacks. They’d be much higher in a few hours. “I’m definitely going to need more coffee.”

What’s good? I hope y’all are having a swell week. Not too much to report. I am taking some time off, but I have vowed to keep a steady pace with posting.
I am going to try my best to post Neon Red on Fridays and Patchwork on Mondays. My day job hours are all over the place, so there’s no telling when I can edit and then post, but I’m doing my ultimate best, y’all. Still trying to see what works and what doesn’t. This week, we are reacquainted with Tracy. He’s overbearing and a pain in my ass, though he has reasons. As I have said before, y’all will hate him by the end of this book. But keep reading, he may surprise you.
And with a new chapter comes another chance at meeting Jaxon. On occasions, this man works for the monarchy (underground vampire kingdom with a long history and five books of its own, I finished seven years ago) as an auditor. He’s great with numbers and loves monotony.
Im super excited because this is where the journey truly begins. The moment when our trouple gets the page time they deserve.
I hope y’all have a lovely weekend and don’t be doomscrolling. Shit is too real out there, y’all. Please stay safe and give yourself grace. Thank you so much for reading! See you next week.

Scales and Tall Tails: An Excerpt

Zion
My mouth was tacky and bladder aching, I couldn’t get back to dreamland. Sleep deprivation was the quickest way to piss me off. If there was one thing I hated more than okra, it was the lack of sleep. Kicking sheets, I mumbled curses and planted both feet on the floor. Thank gods for night lights and the mister. My skin wasn’t itchy or flaky. I basked for a few more seconds as tepid water graced my face.
Frustrated with my pushy bodily functions, I plodded to the bathroom and got the job done. After a brief wash and rinse, I checked the duffel. Whatever was in there had weight to it. Papa was gonna owe me for this. Then again, I was living in their house, tax-free. I didn’t even pay for food. Maybe this was my way of kicking in.
Slouching thanks to terrible posture and exhaustion, I shuffled from the washroom in search of hydration. Halfway to the kitchen, I stopped dead and stared at an empty couch.
I didn’t see another body in his bed, and—Scraps clothes were on the floor. I knew for damn sure he wasn’t in the bathroom.
I crept forward but kept eyes pinned to the floor. Walking in on a naked man was rude, but my tongue was stickier than normal, and I had problems swallowing.
Water called for me like a starving siren. Licking parched lips, I inched closer and halted at the sight of a twitching beaded tail.
Oh, hopping locusts, this was fucked up. I tracked the rattle and widening tail straight into the refrigerator. This was worse than catching a glimpse of lazy dick or pert ass.
A whole hell of a lot worse. Because I, Zion Armani Horner, developed a snake kink in two-point-five seconds. It was specific to the male lamia. Maybe the one with his head in the ice box.
Curls cascaded, tickling his wide, muscular back. Cords tugged with tension and flexed while I slumped. He sat on his coiled, iridescent tail, snacking on food I wished to become.
Scrap had filled out. He was at least a foot taller and toned. His human half was husky and thick, soft-bellied with a sexy amount of jiggle. It was a thing, and I loved it. This was—he really was two-faced.
I coughed to get his attention and regretted it. Scrap whipped around so fast I winced and stammered.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked.
I heard nothing. Motor functions ground to a halt thanks to his overt beauty. At forty years old, one might assume they’d seen everything. And you know what? They’d be wrong.
I’d never been this close to a lamina. I had never shared space with them, and I ain’t never stared one in the face.
“Oh, shit, right…” Scrap slapped his forehead and scrubbed. “Uhhhh, I can shift back. I gotta put my clothes on though, soooo…”
Even his voice dropped a few octaves! I was impressed and overwhelmed. Scrap was heavy with them reptilian eyes, fangs, and bawdy. Fuck I was changing colors… green so fucking green. Neon, bright, highlighter shade. It was chameleon-speak for ‘fuck me’. A mating color. I was begging at this point, a fellow chameleon would have had me on the floor by now.
I didn’t give a shit about my mother’s disappointment. I was overgrown, and if I chose to pause my standards for the night, I could!
Scrap didn’t know about our mating display, though he might clock the sauna between my thighs if his tongue came out to play.
The large man glided to his clothes and reached.
“No!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, startling him. “No. I mean, this is your house. If you want to slide or wriggle around, so be it. I won’t put out—put you out.”
My stomach gurgled as I rubbed it. I didn’t wanna toot in front of him again, but I was getting nervous.
“You sure? I might get hungry and you…never know.”
I wish you would.
An ugly snort escaped, making my tummy roll. Once an awkward geek, always!
“I just wanted some water. I can’t even swallow.”
“Shame,” Scrap rasped, slinking into the kitchen.
My color faded from green to pink. His joyful chirp did nothing to hide the sexual undertone. I was in deep shit with this man. Scrap was younger than me, sold bones, and was like a happy-clueless—
Scrap offered an open bottle of water and lingered at my side. His low-lidded gaze shimmered and flexed. I smiled and nodded. It was all I had.
“Thank you, uhm…” I tipped the Arctic Spring and gulped every drop. After swigging sixteen ounces, I burped. “I needed that. It’s always weird waking up after getting blitzed. I remember when my ex-husband and I used to sneak weed into our dorm. What a time.”
I sighed and dragged attention back to a scary quiet Scrap. He stood in the kitchen, gripping the exposed pipes above his head. What a fucking pose. I only saw such debauched things in movies.
Healthy brown skin tapered at the waist where scales caressed him. And because I loved shiny things, I was drawn to their shimmer. With no thinking on my part, I advanced toward the stocky Rattler and almost touched his scale-painted hands.
“I’m sorry… can I—“
“I want you to.”
A bit bashful and gassy, I set the empty bottle on the breakfast bar and grasped his claw-tipped appendage. Two of mine equaled one of his. Palm down, I admired the elegant pattern and stroked his delicate, festooned fingers.
The shining star swirling within my bosom was hard to ignore and name.
“How long were you married?” Scrap asked.
“Ten years. He left.”
“Sad.”
I smiled at the sarcasm and flipped his hand. I poked and traced life-lines. Scrap’s palm was gray and smooth, like the delicate underbelly of a cobra.
“Were you happy?”
“I was happier with him gone. Buuuut, I couldn’t pay the tax, utilities, or groceries. Hell, I couldn’t even afford a bag of fast food schlep.”
Sighing again, I righted the man’s hand, splayed fingers, and sized him up. The tips of my digits met his second knuckle.
“Because I was your standard, happy and grateful traditional mate,” I went on to say, trying not to mount this man. “I had no job, and my thespian dreams meant nothing. Thanks to our government gasping its last breath, theater is dead. So, I moved back in with my folks. Were you ever married?”
“No,” Scrap rasped. “And good thing too, ‘cause if I was, I’d be somewhere else. Bored and probably miserable. You wouldn’t be touching me right now, and I wouldn’t be hurtin’ to make your legs shake.”

Neon Red: Chapter 4

Pronounced Ay-bee

“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.

Chapter 19: Once Bitten…

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!

Neon Red: Chapter 2

CW: Physical violence, talk of predators, grapists, PTSD, and

Two thousand square feet wasn’t a lot of ground to cover when half was locked up. Jiggling the handle on the only external entry gate, Elliot ‘Low’ Collins was good with it. This house had a weird, zoo vibe with the pool and backyard safely tucked away in a bulletproof glass case. It was some overzealous shit, but it gave him peace of mind, as always.
Traveling back the way he came, Low followed the well-laid brick path around to the front lawn and scanned. He ain’t seen nor heard a thing. As expected, rich folks never made noise after dark; they had no viable reason to be out and about. As Low crossed the driveway, he gave three garage door handles a tug. Like them jokers were finna move.
The one downside? There was no gate and nothing to keep strangers off the property; any ol’ body could run up. Maybe he’d finally talk Tracy into getting one. The man was cautious, to a fault. A two-man detail wasn’t ’bouta cut it forever. Not with how business was lookin’.
Venturing around to the porch, he nodded at Hollister.
“You good, dog?”
“Yep.”
“Want something to drink? It’s hotter than hell out here.”
He shrugged but ultimately hummed his acceptance. “A little something.”
“I gotchu, hold up.”
Low scrubbed boots and pushed into the house. Every last light was on. He wanted to sweep through the mini mansion and turn them all off. Didn’t make no damn sense, why you wanna run your bill up for no good reason. But again, rich folk. They ain’t have to worry about bills. Tracy Bisset sure in the hell didn’t, and he lived like it too, not that this was his real home. Nah, if you wanted to talk technicals, this wasn’t shit but a trap house. A packed one, though, and not like any Low ever seen.
He sighed, cleared steps, and marched down the hall. The ‘TV room’ was a dumb, smooth-brained invention. He scoffed at the frivolity. ‘Cause god forbid a seventy-inch Samsung sat in the family room where it belonged. His boss had it that good up in this bitch. Low passed both sitting areas on his way into the kitchen, which held more clean chrome and stainless steel. Kohler appliances and long, glinting counters.
“I’d never be so pretentious,” Low whispered, grabbing a 7-Up from the icebox. A brotha’s first mill was already spent, and he hadn’t even made it yet.
Low ran the can back out to Hollister, and the man gave thanks. Which was something he did often, having manners. Hollister was a down-home boy raised by good-hearted people. He was the type to wear boots and a Stetson with a three-piece suit.
As Low closed the door, Tracy jogged downstairs in a huff, per usual. He was too rich to be stressing as he did. Something else that ain’t make a lick of sense. If Low had M’s in the bank, he’d start the night smiling and singing.
“What’s up, boss?” Low asked, following Tracy down the hall and into the family room.
“They’re late, that’s what. Where—my phone— gooood damn it.”
“It’s in your pocket.” The frazzled male patted himself down, and Low threw a line. “Left pocket.”
“Ah, thank you, Elliot. Always on ten. Wonderful.”
“That’s right.”
Tracy must have been born with a scowl. The expression rarely changed, like somebody had shit in his oatmeal. He texted on a nasty, poisoned apple, plopped on the sofa, and snarled.
“They’re ten minutes out, Elliot.”
“What do we got?”
Boss man’s head snapped up. “Oh, uhm, potential buy.”
“Good, a quiet night then.”
“Yes… I’m assuming.”
Despite Tracy’s perpetual glower, he remained composed. A little disorganized, but calm, and self-righteous as hell. For a third time, rich folks… not all, but some, had an ingrained superiority complex. You garnish that fat bank account with a bit of grown male vampire, and you got a self-proclaimed king.
“Is Hollister out front?” Tracy asked.
“Yeah. But I gotta ask, where do they come from anyway?”
“Um…” His eyes bounced from wall to wall. “I’m not sure on that. They just popped up at the office.”
Low cocked a brow. “They popped, up?”
“Yes, is that a problem?”
“I mean, nah.”
Yeah, it was a problem. Low was bred not to trust a ‘pop up’ muh’fucka. In this business, however, hearsay ruled. He said, she said. Word of mouth made money, so it was hard to shake and move how he wanted. Low didn’t like leaving his paycheck wide open, and that’s what Tracy was. A payday, a good one. Solid and stable. If something happened to ol’ boy, he’d lose much-needed stacks.
Okay, Low was buggin’.
Just money, really bitch?
“I would have liked to meet them first, Tracy. You know me.”
Mr. Bisset sighed and focused on his phone. “I know, I knoooww. My apologies. They threw dollar signs at me. I heard a cash machine.”
Greed for the green made people do crazy shit, and they were both here to make cream. Tracy was running rotten red meat, as in predatory humans for profit, and Low worked for him. They only snatched sex offenders, the ones that hurt kids and rapists. The worst of humanity and vampire kind deserved whatever hell they were given. It was illegal as fuck, but didn’t nobody miss their trash.
The cost of getting bread was high in the U S of A. This gig was more honest than his last, but shadier than most occupations.
Low listed against the divider and slipped a hand between the flaps of his leather jacket. A loaded .45 offered an extra dose of peace.
Formal living rooms seemed like a waste, cause they were made to look cute. Back in the day, folks called it a parlor or drawing room. He never understood it. This was just as ridiculous, two couches and throw pillows. Nothing else in the space. So the high walls swallowed them whole. Low preferred personality over style. Warm tones and single-story. All those damn stairs wore him out.
It was a stark contrast to Tracy’s real joint in Miami. His lofty crib had class and old-world elegance. Mahogany, glossy floors, and aged brass. Low liked it more than this sterile, hardly lived-in box that smelled of paint and sawdust.
Despicable.
Dollars to cents, somebody else decorated the house. Ain’t no way Tracy did it. Homeboy wore suspenders and penny loafers. He fit in perfectly with the other spot.
“Statues creep me out, Elliot, as you know. And you are in statue mode.”
Low cut to Tracy as he slid his phone back home, in the left pocket. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. When you don’t move and go stealth. I’d forget you were there if I didn’t catch your scent.”
“Sounds like I’m excelling at my job.”
“You always do,” Tracy affirmed with a curt nod. “Which is why you’ll be my private guard for quite some time.”
Like fuck, Low thought.
Working for someone else ‘til his deff date was not the plan. Hell nah. He wanted his own business, to be his own boss. He’d had enough of this shit. ENOUGH! However, to get where he was going, bruh needed capital. And he wasn’t finna ask no bank either. Loans were a trap, a blatant lick for poors like him.
“Have you thought about what I said?” Low asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I need three guards.” Tracy slouched into the cushions and sighed. “I’m not doing big things over here.”
“To hell you ain’t. Think of it as a precaution. Better to have…”
“Yada yada. Yeah, I know.”
“Well.” Low shrugged just as Hollister entered with three trailing.
Shoving off the wood, Low stopped them with a hand and jumped the steps. “Did you pat ‘em down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My goodness, Elliot.”
Low ignored Tracy’s lack of caution and checked each man in the face. One smiled and snorted.
“We got no weapons so…”
Sniffing their guests, Low clocked a bunch of shit, but no aggression. If their scents got buck, then it was on sight.
“Go ‘head.”
Moving aside allowed the group to pass. All three were vampires; halfbreeds. Light work, plus one was short and stocky.
“Hello.” Tracy extended a palm, and they shook on it like friendlies. “It’s nice to meet you. Please have a seat. Uh, Lester, right>”
“Yeah, good memory. This is my brother, Miles, and our associate. Emerson.”
Low stood with Hollister, blocking the exit. He didn’t like it. No aggression in the air meant nothing, truthfully. Snakes were always in the grass, and this, Lester, ‘popped up’ at the office. First of all, how did he know where to find Tracy?
See, given the type of man Low was, he questioned any and everything in these streets. Cats like Mr. Bisset was game, goofy, and wouldn’t make it ten hours on the block. Differentiating a narc or an opp from a civilian wasn’t a skill Tracy possessed, off tops.
He’d never spot a shiesty scammer grinning in his face. Even more, Tracy wasn’t about to keep his ears and eyes open. But luckily, Low had the game on lock, and Hollister was a military vet.
Two seconds later, Tracy would have been brain-dead.
Their Cowboy lunged for the twenty-eight, and Low collided with a vampire that barreled through the front door. He wielded a bayonet and slashed the air until burying cold iron in Low’s shoulder.
“Ahhhh!” That pissed him off. Receding into himself, Low shoveled deep and exhumed a fighter. A big bitch who used his fists as lethal weapons.
Low pulled back, cracked the opp in his jaw with a right hook, and the bastard blacked out. Neck snapped, and eyes rolled. He shoulda have yelled timber with how the barbarian kissed tile. Low sprinted for the living room and was shocked.
“God damn boy.”
Hollister loomed over his work and steamed. “The hostiles been put down, sir.”
“You bleeding, big dog.” Low pointed at the man’s thigh,
He laughed, brows arched. “Hot damn, I am. But so are you.”
Right, the knife.
A familiar burn sliced through bone and sinew as Low ripped the blade free. “Beautiful. I’ma keep this for my trouble.”
Tracy peeked from behind the couch and studied the display. “Three bodyguards would be efficient.”
“Oh, now you want three, huh?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.” He chuckled and swallowed. “I don’t see why not.”
Low scoffed, “Come on, Tracy. Let’s get you home. This was a bust.”
“Obviously,” their boss mumbled begrudgingly, rising to his feet. “And, I’m offended. What do you think they wanted?”
“Money, sir.”
Low aimed the sharp steel down at Hollister, who slapped cuffs on the assailants. “Exactly. This was a quick hit.”
“A what?”
“They were going to rob you, Tracy.”
The man’s lids peeled. “As in my money?”
“Yeah.”
Tracy mounted his hands on his hips and said, “I don’t keep cash here.”
“They don’t know that.”
The rebuttal confused his boss, and Low couldn’t deny how dumb this man was. Not academically, of course, being an intellectual or whatever.
Tracy graduated top of his class in 2000 with a modest MBA. It took him places in this generation, but he had soooo much to learn about the world.
Damn shame he was pushing three-hundred. It was also crazy to think they were around the same age. Low wasn’t far behind at… maybe two-seventy-five? Two-sixty? Two-fifty-five? He lost count some years ago. It didn’t matter no way.
“Assholes, trying to rob me. Shows you right.” Tracy kicked the slumped soldier and damn near fell.
Pathetic sight for a vampire.
“Get your stuff, Tracy. I need a patch-up. And don’t worry about them. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you certain, Elliot?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Yes. As always. Good man, good man.” In passing, Tracy slapped his shoulder, making Low growl.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all good. I’ve had worse.”
“My god, are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you all about it in the car, go—”
“My stuff, I know.”
He sprinted off while Hollister bound his ankles with a ripcord.
“Where you be keeping all that shit?”
“Under my hat, sir.”
“Makes sense.” Low snickered and said, “Aight, so you stay here and Imma take him home. I’ll be back to assist with clean-up. Don’t go nowhere, and I mean, don’t even open the door.”
Hollister stood and gave a tight nod. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s been like six months, you ever gonna stop calling me sir?”
“No, sir. You’re my superior. It’s in my blood. I was in the military for forty years, sir.”
“Forty years? Wow. I did not know that. It wasn’t on your resume.”
Hollister’s eyes fell to the sleepers. “You put stuff like that in there, and folks think you done lost your wits. I got my PTSD under control.” His gaze lifted, and lips thinned. “Don’t you worry, sir.”
“Don’t trip, boy, we all got PTSD from something. We both been in the trenches. Mines was just on home soil.”

The Beasts of Saint Nell: An Excerpt

Kenny

I didn’t think much was gonna come from this year’s growth. Not with them skunks and demonic hoppers fucking with my garden. I assumed the worst, but thank the River Gods I was wrong. Digging up another perfect hillberry, my heart swelled. Folks loved Bilo’s berry pies, and that Hill Time special was one of our best sellers.
After loading another basket, I scooted on over and surveyed my beans. They were perfect for picking. I snatched them too. It’d be another week or so for squash, but them peppers were ready.
With gloved hands, I gently twisted, plucked, and pulled. Halfway through harvesting my yams, a howl echoed into the night. It came from the woods, beyond the clearing. On a slow rise, I watched the treeline sway in the early autumn breeze.
A second desperate wail startled me into motion. Not giving it much thought, I vaulted over the fence and ran for it. The wounded beast was in need of assistance. Something in my gut said go, so I went. Wasn’t no time to backtrack the moment I crossed that line.
The Wallow Wood wasn’t for the faint of heart. A lot of foul shit went on out here. Hell, I was a somebody once who quite possibly dumped other somebodies in a marsh few miles west. Mere feet from the commotion, I lifted my nose and scented dogs.
Hellhounds. Two males. One Female.
The thought urged me forward. I cleared stumps and booked it. I wasn’t no youngin’ but a motha fucka still moved.
Spotting the group, I waved a glowing hand and tossed one of two hounds across the woods. The other got buck, released the female’s hind leg, and growled. Most hellhounds were male, which made females rare in these parts. Nine outta ten, they’d attack a lone female from any species.
They were tussling over this one and her pups, hiding in their pouch. I smelled them too.
As I rolled up my sleeves, the giant canine with its barbed tail, flaming eyes, and venomous bite charged.
Palms high, I blasted the beast with red, crackling energy. Both strikes stopped the dark devil dead and sent them flying into the nearest tree.
They sizzled and smoked on the way down, which meant the bastard wasn’t getting up. Hellhounds weren’t like domestics. They hated anything with a pulse and only answered to demons. Even field wolves and lycans feared them.
The female was a Drear Fox. Large, with a thick onyx coat, massive paws the size of my head, and gold stripes. She was a special sort and sturdy. Built to rumble and kill.
“What you doin’ all the way out here, girl?” I inched closer and crouched. Bleeding profusely, she was on guard. Head down, Mama was prepared to fight yet again. My respect for the shifter mounted. “You got heart, I give you that.”
She snapped and snarled, hackles raised. I surrendered, palms high. It was dark, but she had perfect night vision.
“I ain’t gon’ hurt y’all. As you can see, I got rid of your problem.”
The moment I extended a hand, she nearly took it. Molten gold eyes trained on me, she retreated.
“If you need help, I’m right across the way in that red house. Free room, hot water, and food.”
A master in her element, she’d become a shadow and blended well.. When able, I backtracked and took my ass back home. Five paces and I smiled, facing The Wallows. There she was, couple steps behind but wary.
“Smart, you got them babies to think about.” Lowering her head, the fox growled. “I know when to take a hint.”
With Mama on my tail, I made way towards the house and left the gate open. I didn’t pay her mind but made it clear I wanted to help.
After filling two bowls, one with water and the other with leftover beef pot roast, I set it on the back porch and closed the door.

Frankie

My hind leg screamed over my babies whimpering. They were scared and hungry as I was. We’d been traveling since dawn and running on fumes. Stopping wasn’t an option til we reached Saint Nell. We were close, I knew that much. If not for the hellhounds, I would’ve made it.
They scented me quick and wanted my hide.
The babes wiggled in their pouch, making me slump. Eloise was the first to slip free, my curious girl. She bounded for the bowl of meat and attacked it. I lagged and felt bad for not sniffing the helpings first. The man mighta poisoned it, I didn’t know. Perhaps he’d like himself a new fur.
I gruffed and nudged Eloise with my snout. She growled and snapped at my nose. I forced her back and examined the helpings. Fatty beef, butter, herbs, and wine. It smelled delicious and arsenic-free.
When satisfied, I allowed Ellie to eat her fill and sat on my haunches, avoiding the bad leg. With little miss chomping, Earnest watched and waited. He was more cautious and observant. After Eloise yapped at him, Earnest crawled from the pouch.
As my babes filled their tiny bellies, I remained on lookout. The pain had spoiled my appetite and need for nourishment. Though if I didn’t eat soon, my children wouldn’t have much milk to calm them. At nine months, they were still on the breast and fed three times a day, but my supply was dwindling. We were down to an ounce a day and that wasn’t good for their shifter needs.
Hunger, thirst, and agony caused me to pant. Though apprehensive, I joined my children anyway.
That first drink of fresh water was heaven-sent. Without the rains, we’d have died due to dehydration. Every beast and shifter knew marsh water was toxic, unsafe.
Rot and waste had become a sediment. Bodies were dropped and left to decompose. The stench was unbearable and indescribable.
The bit of beef left was marbled with fat and iron. I savored each nibble and instantly wanted more. My kids had polished off most of it, which was fine, but I was ravenous for another helping.
The last thing I wanted to do was scratch and paw at this unknown magic man’s door. He was a stranger, and I didn’t trust anyone at the moment, but he had come to our aid.
He killed them hounds without hesitation and offered us shelter. I snuffled and limped on over to the door.
My babies nipped at each other and pranced in the garden, Ellie stomping all on the cabbage. Before they made a mess, I snarled and yapped, calling them over. They hustled into their pouch. The added weight put pressure on my wound. The stabbing sensation damn near toppled me as I scratched at the back door.
At this point, I didn’t give a shit if he was a stranger.
We needed help and somewhere warm to rest for the night. Weary to the bone, I had no fight left and was prepared to beg. Using both paws, I raked at the paint and howled like any fox shifter. Shrill and loud, it got his attention.
The door swung open and I dropped my front paws, stepping back to assess. Smokestack Lightening and sweet tobacco escaped into the night as he stood, filling the doorway.
He was a giant, but I couldn’t find him intimidating, even as he peered down at me. Amusement glinted in his topaz stare.
“Too smart,” he drawled. “Get on in here.”
When he side-stepped, I crept forward, sniffing for danger. Rich spices, floral notes, and lush plant life delighted my senses. The oxygen within his home was clean, free of city stink. No groundwater or rat piss around here.
Not only did it smell nice, but the furnishings were fine. Dolled up and expensive. They’d put money into this house. Wood paneling and fluffy rugs said so.
I wanted to bathe before touching anything else. My paws were filthy, claws caked with dirt and blood. No doubt my coat was matted. Them fleas picked at my twitching ears something awful.
“I suppose you ain’t got no clothes or a toothbrush?”
In this form, I hadn’t the ability to speak but gruffed anyhow.
“It’s okay, we have extras.”
The magic man went about his business, and I followed, of course. Like a lost puppy dog. My leg protested with each and every step.
With his home being so spacious, it took too long to reach the spare room.
“Here you go.” Mister listed against the jamb and pulled from a slim cigar. On a rough exhale, he said, “Go ahead, I won’t bother you. There’s a lock on the door, by the way. Give you peace of mind. There might be a gown or two in that dresser. Toiletries and such are in the bathroom. If you want me to patch up that leg, I’ll be close by.”
He didn’t linger and shut the door. Ellie was the first to pop out and go sniffing about. She was adorable with a glossy red coat, white stripes, and ears dipped in ink. She was older by two minutes, which was why Earnest always let her lead.
As I lay on my good side, Ellie babbled in baby Drear fox fashion and forced her brother out. He peeked before waddling free.
They were joyful balls of excitement in a safe space. Children were resilient, bouncing and roughhousing like the world wasn’t crumbling around them.
If not for my leg and their dirty coats, I’d never shift down. No matter how helpful he was, I was terrified he’d hurt us. My fox form was larger, stronger than my fragile human body. My other half was easily bested, scarred, and misused.
It’d take nothing for a mammoth like him to knock me out. Despite my worries, this leg wasn’t gon’ heal itself. Unlike most supernaturals, shifters didn’t have magical healing abilities.
On a sawing breath, I forced myself to stand on all fours. The pain had me seeing stars and spots. My babies ran circles around me as I focused on blooming.
Shifting was different for everyone. I thought of it as a night blooming jasmine awakening from its sunny slumber.
A icy chill flushed through my veins as I stammered on two feet. I caught myself before falling face-first.
“Yeah,” I rasped, working vocal cords for the first time in five days. “This hurts a lot worse now.”
The kids tussled and yipped, playing on a clean rug. “Y’all are making a mess.” Mud and bugs speckled the spotless fibers. “Get over here.” I snapped my fingers, and they bounded behind me. “He’s being nice enough to let us stay the night. We’re leaving at sunrise.”
Wobbling a few feet to the washroom turned into a ten-mile hike with my throbbing leg.
“Thank the gods.” The tub was deep, claw-footed, and matched the sea foam theme. “You two first. Let’s go.”
Ellie barked, catching an attitude.
“Baby, Mommy can’t chase you tonight. Please be good.”
Her ears flattened in defiance.
“Earnest?” He pawed at my shin and hopped. “My water baby.”
With the leg going numb, I rushed through our baths. Bubbles did it for Ellie. She wanted to play and swim with Earnest as the mound of white fluff grew. By the time I finished scrubbing the babies, I was too tired to wash my ass.
The thought of it made me cuss, but it’d have been rude not to. Plus, I couldn’t get in bed smelling like outside and must.
While the twins settled on the bed, I turned on the small clock radio. They loved jazz, and it often lulled them to sleep.
“My turn,” I whispered, pulling a pink gown from the drawer. It was too small and thinner than a dinner napkin. “You don’t have any other choice, Frankie.”
Shaking my head, I hobbled into the bathroom and vowed not to fall asleep in the tub.

This historical paranormal romance takes place in the fictional city of Saint Nell, Illinois, from 1958 to 1963. The setting is about two hours South of Chicago and where most supernatural call home.
Vampires, witches, and shifters live among humans, and not in secret. Their existence is well known and normal.
The Beasts of Saint Nell, is a story rooted in trust, justice, true love, and perhaps, redemption.
Come along with me as we explore these themes through the eyes of a reformed vampire gangster, a powerful shifter, and a hardy warlock.

Coming August 2026

The Unexpected Resurrection of Neon Red and its CWs

About two years ago, I gave Vella a try. It went absolutely nowhere. I don’t know, maybe it was my lack of marketing skills. Anyway, I took Neon Red down six months before Vella shuttered and said I’d release it on D2D or Smashwords. I can still do that. I’m still thinking about it, but I figured why not give Substack a go and see what happens. If it doesn’t pick up after about six months, I’ll bring it here. No big deal. I get more reads through FB than anywhere else anyway.
So, with that being said, I will post Content Warnings here. Neon red is a Dramatic Paranormal Romance. Keyword: dramatic. It’s dark, twisted at times, and messy.
The story follows four vampires. First up, there’s Maxine, a depressed, ninety-eight-year-old divorcée living at home. Then we have Low, a bodyguard intent on fucking up his career and personal life. And because I love chaos, there is Jaxon Aubrey, a genius accountant moonlighting as a drug lord.
Lastly, and not my favorite character, Tracy. Maxine’s father, Low’s boss, and Jaxon’s newest client.
Neon Red is the first in a three-book series I completed four-five years ago. It’s not my best work, but it is fun and enjoyable. I have been editing and tweaking since its Vella days, so it ain’t sooooo bad.
Neon Red is a journey some may not like, and others love. Keep in mind, again, this is a dark story with dark themes. I don’t condone drug use or selling, nor do I care for those who actively destroy lives. This is fiction, and trust, I do not glorify it. There are consequences for every action. If you follow along to the very end, you will see what I mean.
The main coupling is a fast-burning polycule. Mmf. Crossing swords and sloppy toppy for everyone! By everyone! I’ve said it many times, but all these characters are Bi or pan. No assuming, just know!
Also, Maxine and Low are Black. Jaxon is not; he is Irish. I suppose this makes it an Interracial and Black love romance. Neon Red is unapologetically Black, and some language will seem dated. That’s intentional. These are old ass vampires with decades behind and in front of them. Time moves differently when you’re immortal.

Without further delay, the CWs and trope card.

Off-page death of a parent, Depression Murder, Parental Neglect and Financial Abuse Trauma, Mild Gore Blackmail, Drug Selling, Drug Use (weed), Parental Abandonment, Mention of Religious Bigotry, Past Domestic Violence

Neon Red trope card includes Polycule dynamic, plus-size FMC, Secret Relationships, morally gray MCs, Paranormal Romance, Forced Marriage

Coming Spring 2025

Born into an apocalypse, The Huntsman knew a little something about death…but nothing, about babies.

On any other night, Carver would finish the bounty and get ghost. This was not one of those nights. After fulfilling a small contract, Carver stumbles upon a wailing child. In need of help and a babysitter, he seeks advice from the only decent person he knows. It just so happens that person is his closest friend and maybe, his greatest desire.

This is a 25k MM paranormal romance. We got spells, small conflicts, vampire feedings, wizardry, and adorable found family fluff. There are grey themes such as the death of a spouse, blackmail, and contract k–lings.

Spring 2025