Tag: romance

Neon Red: Chapter 7

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


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

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

Neon Red: Chapter 6

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


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

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

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

Chapter 21: Ghouls & Gourds

Nine in the morning was too early. Bullshit before his first sip of coffee? Erroneous. This was too much for a sober workday. Blinking and listening, Jo ignored the chirping voice in the back of his head. The one telling him to do something outlandish. His magical dark fae biology begged for blood.
Jo slurped and grinned as hot, life-giving bean juice burned his throat.
“Am I a clown to you?” Mr. Voaremont asked. “Did I make a god damn joke?”
Jo dropped the smile and set his mug on the front desk. “No, suh. I had a long night, and the coffee hitting this morning.”
“You’re welcomeeee,” Marci sang from behind, tapping them keys.
Trevor sneered, forcing Jo to speak. “I know you’re upset, but—“
“This isn’t me upset, Sheriff. In fact, I’m fine. If I were upset, that mother fucker wouldn’t be bre—“
“Let’s not be hasty, Mr. Voaremont. You’re talking to a man of the law. Threatening folks ain’t nice, and depending on how deep it is, might land you in some legal trouble. Threatening the Queen’s consort, however, can and will be seen as a declaration of war.”
The angry, ugly white man with skunk breath rubbed his face and pointed at Jo. He didn’t appreciate it, a wing twitched with mounting irritation. Anyone else would’ve bitten his digit clean off.
Jo’s stomach lurched at the thought of that dirty ass finger in his mouth.
“I don’t give a shit who he is. I’m pressing charges.”
“You have every right to do that.”
“But you’re telling me, because of his status, the queen has to clear it first?”
“Yeah.”
“What use are you then?”
“Common folk do exist ‘round here.”
Mr. Voaremont groaned, slammed a fist on the desk, and grumbled. His antics got Powell’s attention. The ninety-year-old werewolf wasn’t about no bull and didn’t take kindly to outsiders, neither. Also, he hated the Voaremont clan for reasons he hadn’t stated.
“We got a problem here, son?” The seasoned deputy approached with a hand on his ancient revolver. “What can I do you for?”
Trevor re-assessed, obviously.
Powell was fully gray with a bad knee, but he was big as hell with arms the size of whiskey barrels and a smoky timbre even grown grizzlies envied. The city boy bowed out like an intelligent bitch and ran fingers through his hair.
“What do I need to sign?”
“Marci,” Jo called, spinning in his steel toes, “Get this man his papers.”
“Way ahead of you, baby.”
“Thank youuuuuu.”
Jo gulped his brew and smiled at Kit’s knitted brow. He scribbled in his notebook and hummed, as if pleased. The demon looked up from an elegant script and squinted. His eyes were unnatural, large, and a dazzling shade of lavender.
“So, one must file a report after a crime?”
“Mhm, yeah.”
“Becasuuuuuse you have to investigate the matter?”
“You got it.”
“So there are no mind scribes to sort through their memories? How tiresome.”
Jo canted his head and dropped into his squeaky chair. He didn’t have an office, only a desk. Right next to Renata’s. Their workspace was small but functional. One breakroom, one bathroom, and two jail cells. Not much else. With only four deputies and two dispatchers, they didn’t need a lot.
“I think you on to something,” Joe muttered. “But we ain’t never needed it really. Nothing to investigate.”
“What about the Platter Boys?”
“Yeah, we gon’ see about them in a bit.”
Kit stroked his smooth chin and hummed again. “What about gun crime? Knife crime? Magical crimes? Arson, vandalism, and theivery? You don’t have such problems here?”
Joe laughed and shook his head. “Nahhh. Look, Indigo Plains is a place of peace. Folks don’t come here looking for shady shit. They go to Carver or Misthill for that. Crime be so low here ‘cause this where the Queen lives. Folks know better than to run crazy with her right up the street. My great-grandma don’t take no mess. It makes my job easier.”
“Speak for yourself,” Powell said in passing. “Lazy, good for nothing. Mr. Inkwells dog bit the milkman. Sadie Nile accidentally shot her boy in the ass while hunting. He wants to press charges on his own mama, the bitch. And Pickle got so drunk last week he tipped a god damned bison. You don’t do that! Them is sacred animals. Ogres, think they own the world. I might take him to the high court behind this.”
The old man grumped and sat at his desk. He kicked his feet up and crossed them with a hand on his mouse. He loved digital solitaire most and was probably in the middle of his fifth game. Powell earned the right after serving as Sheriff for thirty-five years.
“That ain’t crime, bruh. That’s town shenanigans.” Jo giggled into his mug while Powell glared. He swigged and said, “Anyway, major crime isn’t a problem, and I don’t go searching for it ‘niether. I keep out of townsfolk business unless called. I don’t wear a pistol and—“
“You need to,” Powell piped.
“Play your little game and stay out of my mouth, damn.”
Kit tapped on his notebook and nodded. “I understand, completely. And you know what? I find this all quite fascinating. Even in the most affluent Undervell neighborhood, someone is bound to get stabbed or disemboweled.”
“Demons. Y’all too sensitive.”
“I know you ain’t talking,” Marci said, on her way to the restroom. “Crybaby ass.”
“I pay you!” She slammed the door, and Jo cussed. “Folks don’t respect me around here.”
“Insubordination, check.” Kit cocked a manicured brow and sniffed. “You should take a toe for their back talk.”
Jo lost his coffee and howled in laughter. He redecorated his desk with heavy cream, dark roast, marshmallow creamer, five cubes of sugar, and whipped cream.
“Excuse me?!” Powell barked.
Kit shrugged. “Where I come from, there are consequences for such treachery.”
“Treacheryyyy? Whoa, bruh. Calm down. You gotta relax.” Jo accepted the napkin Marci offered and wiped his goatee. “You a mess, you know that? Can’t slip around you, Kit.”
The demon straightened and gave an affirmative nod. “I don’t tolerate disrespect in my ranks.”
Jo’s brows hit the ceiling. “Ranks? What ranks?”
“My militia. Battalion. I see over five and have won my fair share of battles. Not without incident, mind you. I have tried my damndest to not—“
“Wait waiiiiiiit.” Waving his hands, Jo laughed. “You? A commander or head honcho of the military?”
“General. The one and only general of King Spires army.”
It was unimaginable. This here man is some cutthroat vet. It was wrong judging folks by their cover, Jo’s mama taught him better, and with GG Nieema’s past, he knew better, but daammmmnnnn.
Kit was shorter than Jo. Five-nine and cute as a button. Fat cheeks, dimples, and a soft, round frame, he looked like a fucking demonic doll. Kit was scared of the woods and flinched at any old sound.
He’d told Jo about the tiny stuffed Feldspar pooch—whatever that was—he carried in his bag. It made him feel safe. That same man was a general… of an army.
To think Kit a ruthless killer was absurd.
Jo glanced at Powell, who scoffed. “I call bullshit.”
“Good sir! Are you calling me a liar? Because there is nothing to gain in me doing so. I don’t even like—“ Kit clamped his mouth shut and slapped his notebook closed. “When are we leaving? I want to settle this buffoonery with the Platter Boys post haste.”
“Post haste? Bufoooonery?” Marci giggled, “What year do you think it is, Sherlock?”
“What?”
Marci cackled and tapped Jo’s shoulder. Her peridot eyes twinkled as she rocked in her chair. The sensual tree nymph was gorgeous and top-heavy.
“Uhhmm, Buck did call earlier. Said he wanted to talk to you about some weird cult shit.”
“Huh?” Jo winced and shook his head. “Cult shit? I don’t—what?”
Marci popped a shoulder and went back to her business of writing. She was fifty years old and tech-savvy. Jo didn’t know a damn thing about computers; that’s why he never owned one. The woman wrote action and suspense novels in her downtime, or so she told him.
Marci was talk of the town with her pistachio complexion, wide hips, and autumn red afro. Everyone wanted a piece, except Jo. They’d been friends since birth, and he never once tried it.
Not that she wasn’t attractive and built like a goddess, but he never thought of her as an option. Marci was his sister, best friend, and bodyguard. Folks tended to think Nymphs were gentle and peaceful creatures. They were, until you stepped on over to their bad side.
“Damn,” Jo cursed. “This is the most action I’ve ever seen. We should go. Let’s roll fren!”
“Finally!” Kit shot to his hooves and slung that purse over his shoulder. “Off to clean the streets! Swift, with a heavy hand. It’s time to impart law and order! Yes, let us roll.”
Jo and Marci deadpanned each other until they erupted in a cackling fit. This man, demon, funny as hell newcomer would soon find himself bored with Indigo Streets. There wasn’t shit to tidy up, save for a few leaves wilting in the gutters.

“Go for their dammed innards!” Kit yelled, panting and winded beyond the usual. “Undergods taint! There’s more of them!” Indigo Plains was a beautiful, scenic wonder Kit had come to love in a matter of hours. He figured it quiet and quaint, even after the giant spider debacle. Perhaps he’d misjudged Indigo Plains because this was far from quiet.
Jo flew overhead, swinging a lasso. “Jesus Christ! Powell bite their stems off!”
The massive werewolf bounded after the monstrous gourd while the others corralled the smaller possessed pumpkins. Kit struck another with his axe and roared in victory. He swung and severed their stems. The strange, sentient devils squealed, scratched, and whipped his arms with their barbed, curled vines.
“Vile beasts!” Kit ducked, rolled, and parried with swift, demonic precision. He missed the howling behemoth’s hoof by a hair. “They’re growing!”
Jo was certain that when they arrived at the Platter ranch, their objective would be simple. Retrieve stolen goods, give a final warning, and relay Mr. Carol’s message. Kit assumed it’d be a breeze, given how adamant Jo had been.
He reassured Kit on the way. This mission wouldn’t end in bloodshed. Kit had been hoping for a squabble and was saddened to learn, ‘Indigo just ain’t the place for that kinda thing.’
“I will flay you alive!” Kit shouted, slicing through a line of growling pumpkins. He squashed the tinier sort with his own hoof and batted away vines with bloody claws.
Steaming gourd viscera pelted his face as their platoon handled the carnivorous savages. The troop was small but capable, each possessing their own skill set.
With chaos erupting on the Platter Ranch, Kit called forth the heat wallowing in his roiling belly and expelled his fury. He sprayed a group of bloodthirsty abominations with his purple flame.
The bulbous creatures exploded.
Their entrails painted the day in gorgeous hues of death. One by one, they popped and melted.
Their crew worked tirelessly and well. Kit was impressed with Jo’s deputies. He respected Powell’s brute strength and Renata’s drive to kill. And Jo, he was no fighter, but the young man had heart and ingenuity. He’d become their eyes in the sky and an important asset as he worked from above. His support was much appreciated and essential, as the gourds were unable to simply look up. Jo used the art of surprise to murder, and Kit loved that.
Spewing fire, Kit galloped through the mass, flinging his axe. With the smaller pumpkins dead and dismembered with their scalps scattered about, they attacked the alpha. A tottering beast of ten feet and half the size of a cricket field.
With Powell and Renata scaling the monstrous gourd, Kit aimed low.
He chopped their squat, stalk legs. They flailed as Kit put his all into felling this beast. As he sliced into their limb, chunks of chitterlings rained upon him.
Kit inhaled hot pumpkin stink and roared. He vowed never to eat pumpkin pie ever again.
“Down with you!” Kit howled with a final swing of his axe. The wobbling giant squealed and screeched. “Jo! Take them down!”
Jo was quick with his lasso. He snagged hold of its thick stem and pulled with every ounce of his might. The fairy was stronger than he appeared.
His strength and ability were impressive. He managed to throw the monster off balance and yank it to the ground.
Kit moved in and released a stream of fire, focusing on the stem. From outside and within, their group attacked.
Renata crawled into the pumpkin’s wide, fang-filled maw and Powell heaved, pulling on the weakening stem. Kit was beaten, bloody, and exhausted, but he was elated to be of service.
The cursed creature wailed its final breath as the stem snapped and separated from its dome. Not a beat later, the beast erupted. The blast plucked Kit off his hooves and sent him spiraling.
Colors whirled as his lungs sputtered and heart skipped. He tumbled and twirled until crashing through solid wood.
Mammal stink and hay.
He dropped and bounced on impact. He had never been so thankful for animal shit in his life.
Rolling onto his back, Kit groaned as a horse nipped at his horns. “Get—madam or sir, please! Do fuck off!”
“Kit?! Kit!”
He bolted upright and greeted Jo with a smile. “What a thrilling experience.”
Jo laughed, climbed onto the heap of dried grass and excrement. He extended a hand Kit didn’t need but accepted nonetheless.
“Thrilling, huh?”
“Indeed.” Once steady and standing, Kit dusted himself off. It did absolutely fuck all, but it was something to do. “It’s been at least a year since I’ve had a good fight. This was just what I needed. I am refreshed!”
“Bruh, refreshed is a strong word for somebody covered in horse shit.”
Because the moment called for it and Jo had given Kit no other choice, he released a squeal of laughter. The snorting variant. The show of joy Kit reserved for kin. It was a dad joke, and Kit needed a decent chuckle after dueling with mutant pumpkins.
Jo clapped Kit on the shoulder and sighed. “Let’s see what them boys got to say for themselves.”
“Throw them in the pit!”
“You know? We don’t got one of those, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
“The pit has many uses, and to be frank, when you add flesh eaters, most tend to rethink their wasted life of crime.”
Jo giggled as they marched toward the Platters’ home. “I bet.”
Kit growled as the boys slouched and snivelled on the steps. They were scared, pathetic, and worried. Good, they should be. It was due time they served time for this foolery.
Powell stomped outside, wearing the clothes he’d arrived in. “You boys got some talkin’ to do.”
“I—we—we didn’t mean to—“
“Stealing?!” Renata shouted. “You didn’t mean to steal? Because that’s something you boys planned to do and have been doing for months. So tell us, what didn’t you mean? Speak up, Jed!”
The woman troll person was large in stature. Much like a warrior demon from Undervell. Broad with hard planes and toned curves. The sun kissed her pink eyes just so. Its effect may have distracted Kit for a moment.
“We only wanted to experiment,” Jed confessed.
“Yeah.” The smaller of the three nodded and crossed his arms. He wiped tears and looked to his elder. “We only wanted to do some magic. That’s all. Mama said we had enough pumpkins and wann’t buyin’ nomore.”
“So you decided to steal them? From Mr. Carol, of all people.
Jed’s head hung low as he apologized. The middle brother, Sam, didn’t have much to say. He had reiterated what the others expressed and left it at that.
“You gonna tell Mama?” Jed asked.
Jo lifted his chin with a wing twitch. He studied the horizon and shook his head. Kit stepped in to set this right. These boys needed structure, and the fear of the Undergods struck into them.
Consequences must be faced.
Jo lifted a hand, and Kit quieted. This was not his army or his job at the moment. He had no authority here and understood.
“I won’t tell Leah, under one condition.”
“Name it,” Jed said.
“You three will put in work. On the Cresstooth farm for six weeks. Three hours after school, Monday through Friday. I’mma give y’all slips Mr. Cressthooth will sign after each working day. You will earn ten dollars every hour. After them six weeks is up, you can have every dime earned.”
“What magic were you boys foolin’ with anyway?” Renata asked.
And it was a good inquiry considering they’d created monsters found only in the smoldering depths of Undervell.
He shrugged, eyes pinned to the ground. “We want—we wanted to make our own haunted curiosities show for Hollwscream week. We already got some stuff cooked up, but Sam said we needed an attraction.”
“Suhun’ to woo the audience,” Sam said.
Kit scoffed at their waste of an entrepreneurial spirit.
“Why didn’t y’all just ask somebody in town who knows magic?”
The littlest brother huffed and kicked rocks. “Mama said we can’t be asking magic folk for stuff if we ain’t gon’ pay.”
“Your mother seems wise,” Kit said. “You ought to listen to her.”
“We did,” Jed interjected. “We got it our way.”
Powell growled, making the Platter Boys shrink. “And you made a right fool of yourself. People could’ve died! If Jo hadn’t shown up there ain’t no telling what woulda happened.”
“We’re sorry, Mr. Powell. We didn’t mean for none of this. Honest.”
Jo nodded. “We hear you boys, but you’re still gonna handle your business at the goat farm. You understand? Jed, Samuel, Randy? You got me?”
Jed lifted his watery stare and sniffled. “Yes, sir.”
Kit wasn’t sure about human growth rates. But Jed looked to be fourteen, perhaps fifteen cycles. He’d remember this moment for the rest of his life, and good for him. It was a journey taken the hard way around, as Carriont would say. Thinking of his father, Kit grimaced.
“A’ight, y’all.” Jo wrinkled his nose and spat a pumpkin seed. Kit shuddered at the sight and sound. “Go’on and wash up. We’ll call sanitation. This’ll be gone by the time your mama gets home.”
The Platter Boys scrambled and ran inside, the odd door covering clapped shut behind them.
“You went too light on them,” Renata said.
“Back in my day,” Powell rumbled, “I would have been picking switches from that there peach tree.”
“My father would have made me carry a pack loaded with severed heads and walk a hundred miles across the Shovah Badlands.” Kit examined his filthy, pumpkin-mucked claws. “It taught me discipline and character.”
“And trauma,” Jo announced, smiling. “Abuse is not cute, and I feel sorry for y’all. Anyway! Come on, let’s help sanitation and get the hell outta here. I need a shower and a pan of Grandma’s scones.”
“Maggie baked?” Kit asked, perking with the news. “She’s prepared more vestiges?”
“Just for me!” Jo barked. “Get your own god damn scones, Kit.”
“How rude. I am a guest, and as such I should get the first serving.”
“Shiiiiiid.”
Powell sniffed and glanced at Kit. “He’s possessive of his food and will bite you over Maggie’s.”
Kit squared his sopping wet, poop-crusted shoulders. “Good thing I can take a bite or two.”

When I initially started this series, I knew I wanted a large cast. A cast of potential couples and family dynamics and shenanigans. I want Indigo Plains to be its own character and for y’all to live there and meet the community. I don’t want this world to feel stuffy or confined because there is so much I see for this place. There’s a lot of world-building going on for this world, for Ravensguard and territories beyond it.
Everything else I write is so dark and serious. World-ending high-stakes type shit. I never wanted that for PWPF, and I still don’t. Y’all will get more chapters with more characters down the line.
This season is focusing on Jasper, but I wanted to give these two some page time. For obvious reasons, Kit’s pov is important. I’m not apologizing for Jo’s arrival. I love him and Kit together. I’m still uncertain about where they are headed or if they’ll go anywhere. They’re cute together, but that doesn’t mean they have an HEA.
I am a shameless panster who gives the characters free will. In truth, I have no clue what I’m doing or where a book is going until I start typing.
That said, I have plans for Kit. Just don’t know if they’ll include Jo. I guess we all have to keep reading to find out. And yeah, that includes me.
As always, thank you so much and have a lovely week, y’all. Hydrate, rest, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING.

Neon Red: Chapter 5

CW” Tree ransactiojn and use.

Low climbed a short flight of stairs, stopped at 7b, and banged on the screen door. Time was ticking, and at 4:15 am, sunrise was due in roughly forty-five minutes. Sliding to his house took thirty-five, no traffic. On a Tuesday, though, that morning commute was on its way.
“Fuck.” Low pounded on the steel mesh again and thanked god he answered.
“What’s up Low, c’mon on in.”
Paul pushed on the screen and allowed Low entry, peeking outside for a hot second. The boy was cagey and kept to himself.
Paul was against technology; he owned one cellphone. A flip burner. No email or social media presence. He was three hundred years old with soulful eyes to tell it, but physically remained a lanky seventeen-year-old.
“The boys are out tonight,” Low’s plug stated as three bolts clacked into place. “What you want, youngsta?”
“Half, and some wax, like usual.”
The white boy, er, man, sighed and marched through a compact kitchen. His joint was a tiny linoleum haven with coral walls and tiled counters.
“So listen, my supplier ain’t supplied, Low.”
“Is you for real?”
“Said they had a hiccup.” Paul opened the cabinet under the sink and yanked free Cali Kush, not even a half.
“This all I got. I can’t hit you with half right now. I got tourists I need to hustle, you feel me. I’ll give you an eighth, though. And throw in some edibles my old lady made.”
Low smacked his lips, but accepted the offer. “Aight, shit. I don’t got no choice.” Digging for cash, he knew there were others to call. A brotha needed that half. A muh’fucka smoked too much for a punk ass eighth.
At least there were some cookies for Max. Shorty didn’t smoke, but she liked edibles on occasion. With the sale finalized, they clapped palms and Low said, “I’mma hit you, stay up, blood.”
“Right, right.”
Low hit the exit and rushed downstairs. He slid behind the wheel and swapped goods for the forty-five, tucking it back under the seat.
“Ooooo cookies.”
“That shit potent, knowing Ulinda, so don’t go crazy.”
She laughed and shoved chips in her mouth. “Can we go now? I wanna relax.”
“We on the way.”
A thirty-minute journey was whittled down to twenty. He was ready to get in the house, smoke, and make Max holler. Plus, the pinkish horizon concerned him.
They were in the home stretch and zoomin’ down SW66th when Max tapped his shoulder.
“Low, ain’t that Teddie?”
“Where?!”
He slowed and peered through her window. Low didn’t have much of a view from where he lived. Directly across the street from his house was a soccer field. It belonged to the Korean church and was private property. But sure enough, Teddie was on the lawn doing flips.
Low punched the horn and swerved into his driveway. “I’ma kill him.”
“Be nice.”
“Hell nah.”
Without turning the car off, he slipped out and ran across the narrow avenue. “Have you lost your mind?! Get your hard-headed ass—it’s three in the morning and you flipping and shit. The neighbors finna call CPS!”
Teddie grimaced and jogged to the fence. “You told me to practice. That’s what I’m doi—“
“Booyyy, you lef—” Low fumed, pointing at the house. “You left Ashton alone?”
“No…” Teddie nibbled on his bottom lip and looked at the tree Ashton stood behind, peeking.
“Get the hell over here!” The boy smiled, mouth full of high-priced braces. They cost more than Low’s golds. “What’s wrong with you? Bring your behind on. Both y’all in it.”
Teddie snickered. “How do we get out?”
Low clapped his hands. “Don’t play with me. Theodore!”
They thought this shit was funny, and he didn’t find a ‘nere thing humorous. After they cleared the short chain link, Low shoved them across the street.
“Get in bed, now! And wash up too!”
Knucklehead one and two rushed for the door, grinning like they weren’t in trouble.
Teddie stopped and waved. “Hi, Max.”
“Hay, love,” she said, daring to be nice. “You stuck that last one, boy.”
“I did, huh?”
“Go’on,” Low shouted. It got them moving, and the moment they disappeared, he killed the engine. “You get everything?”
“Yeah. And you don’t have to yell.”
“Girl, I’ve been raising those boys for eight years, I’ma yell at they ass. And that little one, he gon’ give me a stroke.”
Max shook with mirth as he slammed the door and remotely closed the gate. They paced for the house, and she tried to show him the bright side.
“They’re growing young boys who will turn into men. Y’all will be inseparable.”
“Shit, we already are.” Low scrubbed Vapormaxx soles on the welcome mat and stepped over the threshold with his lady in tow.
Keeping it a hunnit, Max wasn’t his. Matter fact, he didn’t have a lady. No relationship to speak of. Just how he liked it. What they had, was a situationship. Mutual as fuck. Both parties carried baggage and neither wanted to unpack that shit. For various reasons.
“God, I love the way your house smells. It never gets old.”
Max recited the same line every. Single. Time. Low figured it was a compliment, and he could never receive too many of those. When it came to his home, yeah, he deserved some recognition. For time and money spent. Vaulted ceilings dressed in polished cherry planks and beams. Mid-century modern decor and foliage were his vibe of choice.
From the door, house plants greeted them, and as they trudged along the terracotta floor, he jotted mental notes. Pruning and watering were in order.
Low watched Max bank left and dash through a pair of doors leading to the master suite. He loved the privacy and sheer size of his room.
She hurried onward, hit a final louie, tossed goodies on his bed and ran for the bathroom. “I gotta peee.”
Low dropped his keys, phone, and lighters on the highboy dresser. His place smelled so good ‘cause he kept incense smoking. And not them cheap ass Wallyworld sticks, nah, his came from an online independent Afro shop.
Black Butter, Pattie Labelle, and Somili Rose stayed in rotation. The latter was his go-to at the moment. After Low sparked a roach, he slipped off his shoes.
“Whew, my bladder was full. Oooo that’s the Somali Rose.”
Max cleared the bed and dove into her purse. He knew she was about to spout some spiritual mess. In an effort to stop it, he stood on a grunt and aimed for the stereo system beside his dresser.
The master wasn’t small, by any means. But he packed it tight with more plants, a cal king, and a heavy oak number.
A four-bedroom with dual vanities, a sauna, and a sit-in shower would cost close to five million nowadays. Low was big-headed, even though he hadn’t paid for it. He was also proud of an enormous vinyl collection. Years’ worth of long-forgotten music followed him through the decades and filled four shelves.
As Low lifted the lid on an HMV stereogram—purchased in 1972—sage wafted.
“Annnnnd here she go.”
“Your energy is off, love. We gotta cleanse all this mess. I told you to get you some lavender and sage incense.”
She swirled that shit all in his face.
“I don’t believe in any of your new-age garbage, and you know this.”
“Don’t talk like that. See, and you wonder why all those bad spirits won’t get off you.” The scent was okay, but not better than his incense. “A daily smudge would do you good.”
“Break that down for me, baby.”
“Yup.”
He pulled free a winner and chuckled. Vinyl records almost died when compact discs emerged. Luckily, the former prevailed and made a hard comeback. Everybody and they mama released an album on vinyl. Which was good, ‘cause he liked the analog sound better. Low was a hip-hop head, and even Kendrick had ‘em. Though, sometimes, them oldies came in handy right on time.
After carefully pulling the record from its jacket, he placed it on the platter and dropped the needle. Teddy was a classic album, and Mr. Pendergrass set the mood quickly.
“Freak nasty!” Max yelled mid-giggle. “Mister penherass dowwwwwn… senior.”
Low crawled on the bed, observing Max bust down the weed and backwood. She dumped tobacco into an abalone shell and used her magical hands. The woman could roll. Her shit was tight and dry.
How she did it with those sexy nails was beyond him. Max ain’t even partake, then again, she had been rolling his blunts for ten years.
Irritated, Low reached and snatched her shades off. A rumbling growl was to be expected.
“You know damn well you can’t wear them up in here.”
Max scoffed, sealing with a pierced, pink devil. It was his personal hell on earth. “What is this? Cali Kush?”
“Yup.”
“I can taste it.”
Max was an old hippie type with weird habits. Face tattoos and piercings fit her personality. Come to find, she acquired most of it as an act of rebellion.
“Can you hurry up?” Low snarled.
He got nothing but her usual side-eye. “I will flush this down the toilet.”
“I’ll put you out, keep fucking with me.”
She laughed, pressing his nerves. “Here, damn! Rushing me.” Max frowned and threw the blunt at him. “I’ll be in the shower.”
Her little ass scooted off the mattress as Low lit the tip. The first drag did his soul right. Holding smoke, he slid on down to his back and attempted to unwind. Ten minutes and four hits later, he yearned for sweeter offerings.
Low snuffed his blunt in the ashtray and popped up. On his way towards heaven, he lost the durag and clothes. Her favorite soap and scent, which heavily resembled gardenia, ignited a violent brand of lust. Airy and floral, it drove him to madness many a night.
He needed it on his skin and in his lungs, helping the kush along.
With desire coiling in his gut, Low wrenched open the shower door.
“I’m tryin’ to wash up, now. Move!”
“Don’t be yelling at me,” Low snapped. “You in my house.”
“Ugh, your wound is still bruised.”
Headscarf on and body soaking wet, she was divinity in motion. The vision moved him forward until she slapped his shoulder.
“Ow! What you do that for?”
Max scrunched her nose. “Did it hurt?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
She slapped it again and laughed. Low was over her shit. As water streamed and steam billowed, he fell upon her. Supple and buoyant, her lips woke his shit right up.
He shivered, and she jumped, locking legs around him. Home was right here. Body to body, their tongues worked in sensual duality as Low gripped her ass.
Hands full, his dick jutted in anticipation, but their kisses never lasted long enough. Separation caused a pinprick of pain.
He dropped onto the tiled bench and kneaded her behind. “You finna sit on this dick?”
“Yeahhhh.” Max moaned and whined.
“You gonna be nice?”
“Mhmmm.” She nodded and grabbed his face. Her kiss traveled, leaving fire in its wake.
Cheek, jaw, and neck.
“I wanna taste, too. Can I have it, baby?” she whispered against the sensitive spot, just under his jawline. Low grunted in agreement, losing wits and sense.
Two hundred and sumn’ years was a long while to live and more than enough time to lie with any and everybody. Low wasn’t an amateur; he knew how this game was played and had been at it for generations.
He’d had countless companions, but not one had claimed his vein. Until he’d met Maxine.
Low never turned her down, never said no, but it wasn’t a thing.
In truth, vampires biting each other wasn’t normal unless mated.
Low didn’t care ‘bout none of that, ‘cause the shit was addicting. Fangs deep in his throat as her pussy hugged him close set a muh’fucka on the straight and narrow!
“Let me have it,” Max demanded, straddling him. She gripped his stiff shaft and positioned his blunt head right where he needed to be.
Low’s eyes slammed shut the moment her heat licked the tip. Max’s pink, silken walls teased, flexed, and soaked him good.
Lowering and sliding, she mewled.
Low’s fingers sank into her soft, plush hips. “Shi—”
“Fuuuucck,” Max cried. Tight and soul snatching, her pussy arrested him. His female sat on it from head to base and undulated.
His eyes sprang open, and he damn near came from the view. Shorty woulda been madddd pissed if he nutted, but she was a masterpiece. Head thrown back and sharp fangs running a hard line.
Her buttery skin adorned with art, shimmered under a dim blue glow.
“On me, baby, keep them eyes on me,” Low pleaded. She complied instantly. Unnatural, yet alluring, her gaze matched his.
Perfectly arched brows, thick lips, and high cheekbones came in second to her stunning stare. There was something dark behind the innocence. Max hated them, but he’d never see her point. Mismatched and dazzling, they drove him to want without ceasing.
One red and the other quicksilver.
“Damn,” he barked as she started moving like a starving succubus. “Come on now!”
Low smacked that ass, and Max yelped while her pussy bit back. It encased him and forced a motha fucka to beg. She wound and bound him. On fire for it, heaving and cussing, he held firm.
“You so pretty, Maxi. Look at you…all on this dick.” Low latched onto her luscious form and gritted his teeth, watching her body bounce nearly took him out. “Damn, you wet as fuck, shorty.”
“Oooo, shit, Low!”
Her head lulled forward, and motion grew vicious. Ass meeting pelvis and clapping, she put their natural-born speed to good use.
At her mercy, Low might as well be a toy. Perfect pussy, soft curves, large brown nipples, and a hammering pulse set him off.
He was about to nut.
“Ooooooo I’m ‘bouta squ—” Cutthroat and ruthless, skin glistening, Max danced on the dick, her scent thickened with the steam. Breathing clipped and belly jiggling as he loved, she whined. “Lowww! Right—oh dammmnn babyyyy!”
She hooked her claws into his arms, but he registered nothing as her mouth locked onto his jugular.
Fangs penetrated, knocking bones loose. She touched the depths of his cold, aching soul and set him free. Low erupted. From crown to sole, he quaked and drenched her beloved walls.
Truth be told, Max ran the show when they fucked. Whatever she say go. And as his toes curled, ass clenched, and eyes rolled yet again, she ruptured.
Squirting on his lap, Max drank her fill and screamed. Nut number two battered his senses. Low gasped for air and looped arms around her.
This here wasn’t planned, and they had no business sharing sheets. Her daddy would never approve, but god forbid Low let their situation go. Not for a second, an hour, or a day. This was worth the risk. Max was worth it. Maybe it was fucked up, but Low had long ago become reliant on these secret, stolen moments and refused to live without them.

Heeello. I hope y’all have had a good week and aren’t too stressed out, but I know how it is. Sometimes it can be hard to enjoy the little things like reading, writing, hiking, meditating, or gaming with everything the way it is, but we try, don’t we?
Y’all have taken those tiny moments and used them to read my stories. For that, I thank you. It means a lot. Y’all are the reason why I keep at it, cause you’re still here!
So, with that, let’s move on to the goods. SMUT. And yeah, this was a little taste of what Low and Max have. They are creeping, sneaking, and freaking, you hear me! Max got the heart of a lion, cause babbbyyyy, what? I ain’t set up like that. Ten years? A whole decade and some change? Hell to the nah nah nahhhh. They cute, though, and I adore them. They’re staying true to the game, and I can’t blame them.
Oh, one last tiny tidbit, the word female is used loosely in my vampire universe because they aren’t human. And some, not all, prefer male-female terms instead of woman-man. Anyhoooo, that’s it for now and please, as always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, let me know! Have a great day, y’all. Stay well, stay hydrated, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING!

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 20: Twice Shy

Unbelievable. How had she folded so quickly? Jasper was celibate and didn’t want to fuck anyone. Hand jobs don’t count! They didn’t count in her world, so this was fine. She was okay with what had transpired, but her heart said otherwise. Her anxiety, fear, and hesitations called her bluff. Jasper was a liar and a coward.
Popping upward, Jasper peered into Nieema’s lustrous carmine eyes and shook her head. “I have to go.”
And she left, in a puff of gold smoke. This was the quickest mode of transportation for a demon, though not her favorite. With a flick of the mind, Jasper could go anywhere she’d already been in seconds. Buuuut, she didn’t travel that way often because her stomach hated the motion and magic. Despite being born with the ability, her body wasn’t built for it. Moments after transporting, Jasper was irrefutably fucked.
The short journey was unkind, rough, and always sent her straight to the god damn lavatory. Her guts were too sensitive for the trip, and with everything else, she was in shambles.
Jasper popped up in her cabin, on the pot, and stayed there for a torturous thirty-five minutes. Every so often, Kit’s terrifying demon cat shoved its furry paw under the door. Their claws were menacing and creeped her out. After what seemed like an eternity, Jasper flushed, washed hands, and even showered.
She needed to recalibrate and refocus to get sex off her mind. Lust and sexual gratification gave Succubi purpose and essentially made them happier. Jasper loathed the peace and joy riding her bones. She was elated, energized, and ready to dance under a harvest moon for hours.
Why were they meant for pleasure? Her only real sustenance was an orgasmic release, sexual energy, and a thick masculine soul. Without sampling at least one of those things, she’d die. Could she ever truly be celibate? No. And she’d never really, actually been that. According to the Internet, she was abstinent. Buuuut, she fucking tried. Nieema’s fingers had been the only thing inside Jasper after months of nothing. And gods, did it feel amazing. She wanted more, but it’d be a mistake on her part to carry on down that road. They were a royal couple, and Jasper couldn’t go there. No matter how desirable the Sunsides were.
Being a celibate Succubus was hard as fuck at the moment, but it was better than getting married off and showcased like a doll. She cursed her mother’s strong genes and traits every fucking day. Carrion spread his seed about without shame. He sampled every pussy and hole Undervell offered. Succubi were his favorite, however. They were everyone’s favorite.
Jasper could’ve been half Leer demon like her sister; they were common brimstone types with normal sexual appetites. They weren’t highly sought-after commodities. Comely but not stunning.
Because Succubi conceived when they wanted and how, their population was small. The last time Jasper checked, there were eighty-four living Succubi left in Undervell. The High Mother protected most of them because of their numbers and how gross demonic males were around them.
“Uggggh!” Jasper roared as her body hummed with desire. She’d be frustrated for a few days and needed to keep busy. After moisturizing with citrus-scented body oil, she donned a pair of boxers and a tank top. Jasper wasn’t in the mood for night gowns or robes. “I need games and food.”
She trekked into the kitchen and grabbed whatever. Sparkling water, muffins, and hot chips. It’d be good enough for now. On the turnaround, she jumped and growled at the ugly cat.
“Shoo!” It hissed, tail flicking with their ass on the counter. “Get off! That’s disgusting.” Jasper went to shove the beast, and it scratched her. “Ow! You shit! Move or so help me—thank god,” she exclaimed as Kit waltzed through the door. “Please get your asshole cat off the kitchen counter.“
“Yoooooou wretched thing!” Kit slammed his satchel and notebook on the island and chased the cat away. “I have told you, Julep! No felines in the kitchen. Gods. He is by far the most stubborn soul I have ever encountered. How are you, sister mine? How was your night?”
“Well, not great to be honest.”
“Pardon? What’s the matter?” Kit opened the fridge and snapped his head around. “Did someone slight you? Touch you without consent?”
Eyes sharp and sparking with fury, he was a sight. Her heart warmed and swelled as her big brother threatened harm to anyone who had hurt her. It kind of made Jasper rethink her silence on the Trevor matter. Maybe he deserved to suffer and shit, if anyone could do the job, it was Kit.
“No, no nothing like that.” Jasper sighed, dropped her goodies on the counter, and snatched up a muffin. She tore open the plastic and bit into it. She didn’t know what to say without divulging too much information. So, she went with the obvious. “I went to look at my house for some construction stuff and got attacked by tiny rock-eating fairies. They messed me up pretty bad, thank Undergods we heal fast. I mean, they were tiny but quick. Also, like half of my roof caved in. The whole house is shit, and it’s ruining my mood.”
Kit tsked and rummaged in the fridge. “Gods, you’ve had a bad go of it. I think your house is cursed.”
“Me too.”
“Who sold it to you anyway?” Kit asked, slipping into his apron. “What piece of shit had the audacity? It is abundantly clear that the home was inhabitable. Whomsoever sold it to you knew this. What was their name?”
“Hawke, uhhhh Nathan Hawke. He was the real estate agent.”
“Hmmmm.” Kit got that look. The flaying look. The expression he took on moments before someone saw their end. “I’ll talk to Joe about this matter tomorrow.”
“Joe?”
“Yes, he’s Nieema and Buck’s great-grandson.”
While Kit busied himself in the kitchen, opening his giant cookbook and gathering ingredients, Jasper jumped up onto the island. She polished off the muffin and grabbed another.
“The young man is chatty and knowledgeable. He’s snappy but a complete goof. Not someone I’d fraternize with in Undervell, but pleasant company. And, he’s also the Sheriff.”
Jasper recalled Buck saying something about this. “Sheriff, huh?”
“Mhm.” Kit nodded as he cracked open large brown eggs over a big bowl. “Yes. He’s allowing me to accompany him on a ride-along tomorrow.”
“What the hell is a ride a long?”
“It’s when a civilian rides with the Sheriff in their motorized vehicle for the day. And possibly, we’ll dispatch a bit of law and order. The Platter boys have been running amok, don’t you know. Thieves are about, sister. Stay vigilant and watch your gourd.”
Jasper cackled, feet swinging. The thought of somebody stealing squash in this town was funny but Kit didn’t think so. His scowl shut me up.
“This is no laughing matter. Mr. Carol has worked hard to grow just enough pumpkins for this year’s festivals. He can’t afford to lose anymore. It’d be a travesty.”
Jasper chuckled despite his grumbling. “How do you know more about this place than I do?”
“Because you, Jasper, are a solitary creature. You’re not curious about others, and you don’t like people. You’d rather stay locked in your chambers with bits and baubles. You’ve always been this way and don’t think you’ve changed much. Are you less than for preferring your own company? No. I think, it’d be good for you to explore Indigo Plains. Especially if you intend on calling it home.”
“I am curious. I like to try new things and go places. I went bowling today, thank you very much.”
“Good for you! Say, how about you and I visit Maggie in a few days?”
“The witch?”
“Indeed. How do you know about her?”
“Buck mentioned her.”
“She makes fine cakes.” Kit lifted his chin and folded hands atop his belly. “Yeees, that is my reason for scheduling another visit. What a delectable bite. You’ll see. Oh, after that, we can go into town and buy more wares.”
“With my money?”
“Yes.”
Kit spun around, turned on the radio, and fussed with it until finding classical music. That was her cue to leave. Jasper slid off the counter and snatched her loot.
“Same goes for you, Jasper. Keep your rump off of my counters!”
“What are you making?”
“A common quiche.”
“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but call me when it’s done.”
“Will do.”
Kicking her door shut, Jasper mulled over what her brother said. He was right, she was a loner, and so the fuck what? She didn’t want to be bothered, and the best way to make that happen was to be by herself.
Jasper ignored the ache at the base of her tail and threw snacks on her bed. She’d had it coiled around her thigh all day. It often had a mind of its own, but she was the boss. Over the years, she’d become self-conscious about it, thanks to who? Trevor Fucking Voaremont. He, didn’t like her tail. Said it was weird and trashy to leave out in public.
“Leave me alone,” she muttered, plugging in her laptop. Settling on her bed, Jasper placed her computer on a tray, donned her headset, and booted up Streamer for the first time in weeks. After finding a cheap game to download, she popped open her chips. He hated eating in bed, hated her eating junk food, and hated the way she crunched so loudly. “Go to hell, Trevor Voarmont.”

Neon Red: Chapter 3

What an unfortunate circumstance. Robbed, someone tried to rob him. For the first time in ten years, Elliot had to save Tracy’s life. Well, Hollister helped, too, and he appreciated fast thinking. On their toes and ready for battle. Best to have someone around who can defend his honor. Tracy would rather not engage in a fight, unless it was with a pen.
Mayhap a game of chess, but he wasn’t too good, truth be told. His father reigned as king in chess and often berated Tracy for losing so viciously.
As they puttered along, 826 -and putter was an apt description- Elliot drove like an old man. Granted, he was an old fellow. He stayed in the slow lane and kept it at sixty-five. Their trips always took longer than necessary. Tracy knew Elliot was only being safe, but good god, this was ridiculous. He should have been home by now.
They were on the highway, but dealing with Elliot, a fifteen-minute ride turned into twenty-five. Annnnd, it was 3 am, no one was on the road, save for three other cars that sped on by moments before.
“Thank you again, Elliot. You are a true marksman.”
“I didn’t even get to use my gun,” he said, sounding incredibly dejected.
“Maybe next—well, you know what? No.” Tracy shook his head. “I don’t want a next time.”
Elliot glanced at him and smirked. “You sure? It’ll give that old heart a jolt.”
“No, no. I hope to never go through something like that again.”
“Me either, I don’t wanna make getting stabbed a habit.”
“So, you said you’ve been hurt worse?”
Elliot nodded, keeping eyes on the road and two hands on the wheel like a seventy-year-old human named Henryetta, “Yeah, been stabbed. Set on fire, shot, disemboweled, and lost a leg once. Nearly got my head lopped off… You know, stuff like that.”
“Noooo, I don’t know.” Tracy scoffed. He couldn’t imagine any of it. “Dear god. You never disclosed such information before.”
“Irrelevant.”
“Fair enough.”
As silence settled in, Tracy took a gander at Elliot’s wound and gagged. The sight of so much blood was unappealing, even for a vampire. Seeping and oozing, glistening.
Was that white meat?
He dragged attention away from the hellish display and stared out the window instead. When 56th merged into Millers Street, hunger pangs returned, and with vengeance. They drove by an assortment of eateries, and his stomach howled. The long stretch of asphalt and stop lights became a new brand of torture.
Mr. Paella, Bamboo Miller, and McDonald’s—where Tracy would never eat, because he was vegan and not trashy—looked like a grand idea; he was starved.
“Are you hungry, Elliot?”
“Uh, sorta. I’m really tryna keep from throwing up right now.”
“Ohhh, does it hurt?”
“It tickles, Tracy.”
“Right, dumb question.” Checking on him with obvious reluctance, Tracy noted the sweat on Elliot’s brow. “You know? Jaya can stitch that for you.”
“No, no—”
“It’s the least I can do. She’s great with a needle and thread.”
Good thing he nodded; it was unlikely Elliot would make it home in this state. “We can have it sewn up and get you a pint.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He agreed just as they made a right onto 60th, where streets were narrow, and homes were shielded behind high brush. Each house, manse, or abode was gated and secure. Tracy loved this neighborhood and its timeless beauty. The homes were older, built in the early 2000s, but were charming, and his was no exception.
Elliot pushed a button on the remote on his keyring before reaching the gate. Tracy gave him free access to pretty much everything. After ten years, he trusted Elliot beyond measure. They’d gone so long without one hiccup.
Seconds later, thank god, they embarked on the roundabout drive and stopped at the front door.
“Finally,” Tracy grumbled.
“Something wrong with my driving?”
“No, no… I mean, if I required urgent care, I’d be dead, but great job.”
Hopping out with his backpack, Tracy heard Elliot chuckle, and he smirked. Being home felt nice, and when he walked in, he smelled a lovely aroma. Wine sauce and plant-based butter. From the foyer, Tracy swerved right, paced through the formal dining, and arrived in the kitchen.
“What do we have here?”
“I thought I heard the door,” Jaya said, stirring whatever bubbled and boiled on the stove.
“Chickpea and potato curry.”
“Wonderful, you are talented with a spoon, Jaya.”
The woman blushed, and he spun around. “Uhm, Elliot has suffered an inj—”
“Oh my god, Elliot.” Jaya dropped the spoon, snagged a dish towel off her shoulder, and wiped her hands. “Come here.”
“Hay.”
“Hi bud, how are—oooohhhh.” She flinched and examined the wound. “Got a deep one, huh?”
“Yeah, and I need to sit down.”
“Come, come.” After tugging Elliot along, Jaya placed him at the breakfast bar. “We’re gonna go in the bathroom first, and then, I’m gonna fix you right up.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You know better than to ma’am me.” She smacked him with the towel, slid behind Tracy, and smiled as he tried to take a bite. “Don’t you even think about it, mister.”
“Damn it.”
“Yeah.”
His shoulders drooped. “I’m gonna put my things in the office and—”
“Oh, uhm, Tracy? You had a visitor tonight.”
“I did?” His nerves rattled in a way. “Who?”
“Yeah, who?” Elliot asked, only with more suspicion. Jaya grabbed a fresh bottle of blood—not his, they were labeled—and offered it to the bodyguard.
“An auditor.”
“Shiiiit.” Tracy was unsettled. “Human, orrrr…”
“Monarchy.”
“Oh shitm,” he uttered again and nodded. “Okay. I’m— damn it. I am going to handle this.”
“I hope so. Have you been paying your taxes?” Jaya asked.
“Yeees.” He lied, the IRS, yes, he paid those on time. But the monarchy, no. And the thing was, he had a few years to make up for. Tracy may have seen this coming and chose to ignore it, being that he was far too busy. He had many things to worry about, and it wasn’t like the king needed money.
“I’m gonna get right on it.”
Spinning around, he nearly mowed down his daughter. “My god. Make some noise on your approach, child.”
“Sorry, what happened?” she asked. “I smell—” The girl side-stepped and shrugged. “What happened to Elliot? What happened to you?”
“I got stabbed.”
“What?!”
Tracy frowned. “Use your inside voice. What have I told you about being loud?”
“Leave her be, Tracy,” Jaya cut in.
“How did you get stabbed?” She looked back and gaped. “Dad, did someone try to kill you?”
“Apparently, they were trying to rob me.”
“Holy sh—shoot.”
“Cursing is boorish for a young lady. Why do I have to remind you of this every moment of every night?”
“Does it hurt?” his daughter asked, in an amused tone. A fiendish smile exposed her delight.
“Yes, it does.” Elliot was not enthused with her response.
“Jaya, are you gonna stitch him?”
“I sure am, you wanna watch?”
“Absolutely.”
Tracy rolled his eyes. How was the girl he raised obsessed with gore? “I’m going to freshen up and be in my office until supper is ready. Max, don’t poke at it.”
“Dad,” she huffed. “I’m not gonna poke it.”
“You poke everything.”
“I bet it’s squishy,” she said.
“You are not touching me,” Elliot interjected, “it’s on fire.”
Max laughed as Tracy took his leave.
Wheeling around, he departed and banked right. On a mission, he kept straight ahead, through formal living, and dashed down the hall. He loved the portraits straddling his path. There were various photos from the past and present. The passage of time is told through frozen memories. Vintage frames protected old, blurry black-and-whites. Maxine’s baby shoots, class photos, or candid snaps in color.
1.7 million was a lot for some, but in Miami, it was a drop in the bucket, and got you four bedrooms. Maybe three thousand square feet. Tracy had four thousand and owned the largest home in the neighborhood. He lived lavishly, with marble floors and twenty-foot ceilings.
At a dead end, he glared at the doors leading to his quarters, then to the left, and decided. His office beckoned. This shit was not going to be fun. On his way, he glanced in Max’s room and grunted. Slob. Clothes were scattered about, canvases on the floor, and old paint coated every surface.
He moved on with a sigh and entered his workspace. She got it earnestly. Tracy dropped his bag and closed the door. Papers swamped his desk, books lay on their backs, and leaned on shelves. The file cabinet wasn’t even closed. Folders cocked and protruded, daring to escape drawers.
Stress ailed him.
Tracy didn’t know where to begin, and his burden grew heavier when he opened the closet door. File boxes and overflowing plastic tubs screamed obscenities. Those were his finances. Somewhere in this mess was six years’ worth of financial garbage. Shit that made his brain explode lurked within the heap.
“Well, let’s get to it.”

At Jaya’s place—the guest house—Max stood behind his nurse and watched. Low sat on the bed bench while the lady worked with skilled hands.
“That shit went deep, bruh,” Max said. She stared in awe as his skin pulled with the thread.
“You think?” Low asked, clearly annoyed.
“I put a topical anesthetic on it. You shouldn’t feel anything.”
“I don’t, it’s not the first time I been skewered.”
Jaya’s Cinnamon gaze flared. “Is that so?”
“Nah, but it don’t never get easier.” He flinched, and Max winced. The asshole chuckled.
“That ain’t funny,” she scowled.
“It is to me.”
Max grimaced and mumbled, “You irritating, like hella bothersome.”
“Back at you, sir.”
She flipped him off and got a smile in return.
“I love how you two get along like angry siblings.”
Max coughed and gagged. “Don’t say that, Jaya!” Shivering, she glanced at Low who couldn’t have been more disgusted.
“Okay.” His nurse clipped the last stitch and said, “That should do it, kid. Let me dress it with some gauze, and you’ll be good to go.”
Making herself useful, Max snatched a pack of sterilized cotton stuff. The wound was nasty but healing already.
“You ain’t much older than me, Jaya.”
She shrugged. “Older is older.”
After handing the squares over, Ms. Burke slapped the material on a three-inch gash. Surgical tape was next.
“I am donezo, Elliot.”
“Can I put my shirt back on now?”
“I don’t know, can you?”
Low rotated his shoulder and nodded. “I think so.”
“By all means.” Jaya ripped off her gloves and sighed. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna need to take those out.”
“It’s good.” Low grabbed his shirt and winced again. Max grimaced at the brief display of distress. “I know how to do that. I done it a lot.”
“I can only imagine, you’re a big guy. You’ve undoubtedly seen your fair share of victories.”
He smiled in a hideous, flirtatious manner. But Jaya rolled her eyes and gathered trash.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me, Elliot!” Bouncing up, she smirked. “I’ll punch that shoulder in a heartbeat.”
He laughed then hissed. “I think the numbing agent is wearing off already.”
“That’s what yo ass get, bruh,” Max said, sneering. “Tryin’ to be a hero.”
“Shut the fuck up before I throw you through a window.”
“I heard that!” Jaya yelled from around the corner.
Vindication.
“Now.” Rolling her neck, Max twirled and followed the woman’s voice. She skipped into the galley-style food room and used innocence to get what she wanted. “Hay Jaya, can you make some scones? Blueb—”
“I know what kinda scones you want, honey. And yeah, it was on my to-do list.”
“Yessss.”
“Can’t believe somebody tried to steal Dad’s money.” She slid across the tile in her Ariel socks, plucked a pear from the fruit bowl, and hopped up on one of two countertops. Max bit into its flesh while Jaya twisted her ear.
“Get your ass off,” she slid down and laughed nervously cause it hurt, “my clean counter. Have you even taken a shower yet?”
“Hell nah, she cutting onions. Ol’ fonky ass.”
Max hissed too, but like a vampire, and snarled, “Mind your business. And yes, I did take a shower.”
“Doubtful.”
“Byyyyyyeeee Elliiiiiooot!”
He shot a narrowed gaze her way and smacked his lips. “Bruh, you buggin. See if I ever give your yappin ass another treat.”
“Fuck off, four eyes.”
The male was six-foot-three, and his waves nearly brushed the ceiling. He was a grown ass man but sensitive as hell. Low stomped his foot as Max chomped on her fruit.
“Why you always gotta go there?” he pouted. “You know how I feel about my weak eyesight. Man, Jaya, she ain’t right, that’s not okay. It’s a disability! You can’t say that.”
“You a crybaby, blood,” Max murmured.
He lunged, but hiding behind Jaya’s six-foot, thick frame saved her. “Boy, you better back up. Don’t touch my baby. Go on now, go home. You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“I know.”
“For real,” Max agreed. She rolled the green to find a crisp, white, meaty part. “You look tired. Get some rest.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Low stalked out and slammed the door on his departure.
“Why do you hate him so much?”
“I do not hate him.”
“You do, you’re like a pissy cat ready to scratch his eyes out.”
“He’s annoying, Jaya.” Scraping the core, she sucked on juice then ditched it’s corpse in the trash can. “He’s an elderly crotchety male whose favorite pastime is making me mad.”
“That’s cause you have a bad temper, Max.”
“I don’t, though.”
“You’re a terrible liar, too.”
She giggled, scurried from the kitchen, and hopped on Jaya’s bed.
“No feet on my bed!”
“I didn’t put my—”
“You did, I watched you do it.”
“You’re in the kitchen, how do you know?”
Falling into a cross-legged position, Max smiled and snagged the remote. “What have you been—gross. You and these god damn documentaries. It’s a sickness.”
“You want popcorn?”
“Yes.”
Docs were out, American Gangster was in. When the movie started, Max got nice and comfy. Per the norm, Jaya brought popcorn and hooch. Seagram’s Escapes were actually the best. Black Berry Fizz got them right every time. Just when Frank showed his face, Jaya chose to talk.
“I think you should get laid.”
Max dribbled and stabbed her with a side eye, “I am not talking about this with you. I can’t, it’s… ick. You changed my diapers.”
Jaya threw an arm around her and smiled. “Awww sweetheart, sex is natural. It’s healthy.”
“Oh, my god.” Max stared at the TV and nodded.
“It helps with stress and anger. If you can’t find a man, then hay, buy one.”
“What?! What do you mean?”
“From Adam and Eve, they have a great selection of toys.”
“Noooooo, Jaya, I am begging you, please. I love you and your concern. But I don’t need to get laid.”
Her only motherly figure observed in silence. Jaya’s lips pursed as she shrugged. “I suppose, but I’ll find you something cute anyway. I have a few recommendations.”
Max sipped her beer and snickered. Toys were nice, and she had a few, but little did this lady know they were useless, and no substitute for real peen. Skin to skin. Shit, Max was lucky as hell to get dick on the regular, even if its owner was forbidden.

Hello, y’all, I hope everyone is doing well, and your Tuesday is halfway through. I want to say thank you for the love this story is getting. It’s round two of trying to publish it. No one, and I mean, not a soul, read it on Vella. But, you’re here now, and I thank you! Onto chapter notes.
First of all, I already know y’all are going to hate Tracy, but when I wrote this, I felt as though his pov was important. Please, don’t skip his chapters; they will be needed later on.
This is an mmf paranormal romance first, yes. But it’s also a family drama filled with secrets, trauma, and healing generational wounds.
The person Max is has a lot to do with her father, and in the coming weeks, you’ll see why. If Max seems a tad childish, playful, and even annoying, that’s on purpose. This is only the beginning, and my favorite girl is in for some GROWING PAINS! So, sit tight, and enjoy the ride.
Oh, and one more thing, I wrote and finished this series about five or six years ago. I’ve written so many books since, and the universe in which this one exists is VAST. I’ll add notes as needed. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. And as always, thank you again. Have a wonderful week, y’all.

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