Across town and underground, Nieema admired lofty stacks. She’d been in the castle’s library for a minute, reading shorts to kill time before her guests’ arrival. Not in a particularly romantic mood, she went for comedy. Slapstick, irreverent, or absurd. She wanted to laugh without thinking much. Nieema didn’t like staying in the subterranean castle for long. It trudge up an unsavory batch of memories. Those darkened by the past and present. Nah, she would rather not dwell within these stone walls. Though it wasn’t an ideal meeting place, she loved the grand, three-story library. It’d been her haven as a child and a stressed adult. She’d called it home once and had even fallen asleep on the same sofa she lounged upon now. Lemon wax, citrus oils, and parchment made her feel safe. It provided a hefty dose of nostalgia as well. Nieema smiled, recalling the early, adolescent years. Her mother would read to her for hours. It was a fleeting time she remembered fondly. Nieema settled with another book and relaxed on tufted velvet. She cracked the spine the moment her brother spoke. “Come on down here, Your Grace.” Monroe beckoned, and she slapped the hardback shut. “I know you up there.” “Don’t rush me, boy.” Tossing the book, Nieema took her favorite form. She exploded into a chattering, squealing colony of bats. Her magic hummed, and psyche split. Twenty sets of eyes and ears. She saw all and heard every motha fucking thing going on in the castle. The keep, kitchens, and chambers. To the dining hall and courtyard. Nothing was a secret when she grew wings and clawed feet. Not only was this the quickest way to travel, but it tended to scare the shit out of everyone. Including the beady-eyed mayor who shrank and yelped. Nieema circled him and swelled; she undulated. Swirling around the man until he cowered in his seat. “Stop playing with the poor soul, Queen.” She snickered and dropped into her full form. “Mayor Gloomfhut. It’s so nice you could be with us today.” Preston Gloomfhut was a fifth-generation ghoul. Which meant he liked raw meat and looked like a god damn dead fish. He was the type who lived up to his name. A thin-lipped, sharp smile was enough. Nieema noted them shiny shoes and the gold signet ring on his sixth finger. “I am sorry about that,” he said, crossing his legs. “The mayor’s job is never done, Your Majesty.” Nieema unbuttoned her suit jacket and sat, adjacent to the uptight, sneaky ghoul. “I know, but we needed to talk.” She gestured to the waiting fixin’s. “I had a little something prepared for you. Some raw cubes, aged cheeses, and dipping sauces. There’s also spiced blood. I know y’all can live without it, but I think it’s a fine treat.” “No, no. I will not turn down a chance to have some premium blood.” Monroe was more of a listener than a talker. Especially during times of political strain. This talk wasn’t a big hoopla, but he remained stoic, swirling his full glass. He stood near the wet bar and sipped. “Good god,” Gloomfhut rasped. “This is divine, Your Majesty. I can’t say I’ve ever had Moores Wind port. Can I uh, well, may I take a picture of the bottle?” “Be my guest.” Preston grinned, fishing his phone from his breast pocket. Those fingernails had seen better days. Blackened and chipped, Nieema grimaced at the filth. He was put together, but his complexion was off, and he hadn’t bathed in some time. Whatever the Mayor was into had him cracking and peeling on the surface. Ghouls had come a ways thanks to human intervention. Yeah, they fucked humans, and so what? That wasn’t the problem at hand. And while his shook while taking the photo, Nieema clocked the threadbare scent of decay. “Splendid,” Mayor Gloomfhut drawled, stashing his device. “Now, what is this about? I asked Monroe, but he was light on the details.” “How well do you know the Voaremont’s?” The ghoul canted his head and glanced at her brother. He crossed his legs once more and tugged cuffs. The question unsettled him. Nieema was shit outta luck reading his pulse, ghouls didn’t have a heartbeat. They had working parts and a magic in their veins, but lacked a fully functioning heart. “Of course, everyone knows them. They’re one of the wealthiest families on the planet.” Nieema wasn’t about to play in this man’s face. She snapped up a glass of blood and swigged. “Glad to see you think so highly of them,” Monroe added. “What is this about?” Mayor Gloomfhut asked. Nieema slammed her glass onto a rose gold platter. “What does my decree say about hunting?” “It’s forbidden.” “No.” “It’s against the law.” “Continue.” “If anyone is caught hunting or conspiring with hunters, then the punishment is death.” “Public execution,” Monroe corrected. Nieema exhaled and smirked, but she was unamused. “Someone is hunting in my fucking city. Misthill. The one you are in charge of protecting and providing for. So, tell me, Mayor, how has this slipped by you?” Bloodfhut stammered and hiked up. He shook his head vehemently. “Your Majesty, I would never—“ “Don’t fix yourself to lie up in here.” Nieema scooted forward, resting elbows on her knees. She peered into the man’s unnatural, averting gaze. “I’m gonna need you to speak your next words with care. We brought you here, to this library because it is charmed. If you twist your tongue to lie to me, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” Mayor Gloomfhut screwed his eyes shut and coughed. His knuckles turned white as he gripped dark, Chellian wood. “I can’t.” “You can’t what?” “You don’t understand.” “Make me.” “Your Majesty, the Voaremonts will kill me. I can’t—I can’t. You must know that it was never my intention. I trieeeed to stop them. I swear to the Greats, I did. But—but their father, the patriarch.” Mayor Bloodfhut snapped his head up and stuttered. “He’s—he’s—honestly, I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think he’s human. And—AND—they’d kill me if—I ain’t saying they’re doing it. But I am not saying they aren’t.” “You know why they’re doing it?” “I have no idea.” Nieema huffed. He hadn’t melted yet. This told her one thing: the mayor wasn’t lying yet. Though he’d chosen to omit. “You not talking?” Nieema whispered, anger flaring. “I can’t rat!” “Okay, but you’ll be staying with us until you sing, Preston.” “Your Majesty, if I could do any—“ “Speak.” His head dropped, and his spine loosened. Gloomfhut sagged and blubbered. “He’s got eyes on my whole family and me. If he finds out—maybe he already knows I’m here.” Preston coughed and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “Do whatever you want, but I can’t risk it.” “Hank.” Her knight appeared as a swirling mist and solidified behind Gloomfhut. “Let’s go, son.” “How long have you been digging?” Nieema asked. The mayor lacked a proper nose, but he scrunched it nonetheless. After threading waxy, four-knuckled fingers through his greasy hair, he sighed. “Four months.” “You’ll get a year for grave robbing.” “Fine. It was only for a while anyway. I’m so god damneed stressed. The Crack Mage Gang is fucking up the city and the Voaremont’s—whatever.” “Take him,” Nieema demanded. Hank was gentle with the slouched ghoul. Their limbs were prone to pop off like a scared gheko. After the duo vacated the library, Monroe cussed and jacked to his feet. “This some buuuuullll shit I wasn’t prepared for, sis. You gotta give a god damn minute. Shit.” Her brother headed for the bar and chuckled. “He don’t wanna rat, but he is one.” “That’s fucked up, Roe. Come on now, they hate being called rats.” “Well…” Nieema plucked a few cubes of aged Gouda and smoked goat. Chewing and thinking, she only grew frustrated. “I figured him involved, but not like this. The Voaremont’s aren’t taking authority seriously, even going so far as to threaten them. Hunting in my kingdom will not be tolerated!” Nieema kicked the coffee table, knocking allat shit over. She wasn’t about to let this slide. Trevor had hurt Jasper. In ways Nieema couldn’t fix, and his entire family was running amok, hunting in Ravensguard. “I don’t need Preston to tell me shit.” Nieema stared at stained glass panes and snarled. Blood-boiling rage caused her fangs to lengthen. “I know what they doing cause I believe Jasper. And if Trevor is at it, then I know his brothers are too; the only question is, who are they giving these parts to?” “If they not keeping them as trophies.” “Motha fucka,” Nieema muttered. On her feet, she adjusted her jacket and buttoned it. “I think it might be time to meet with the wealthy Voaremont brothers. And Roe, I want Peaches and Mookie on deck when we do it.” “Understood.” “Ain’t this a bitch.” Nieema headed for the exit and grumbled. “There are hunters living and breathing in my town. Never thought I’d see the night.”
Happyyyyy Monday, and good evening, y’all. I hope everyone had a great weekend! You’re in recovery mode now, I know. Fourteen hot dogs and a barrel’s worth of soda’ll fuck you up good in your late thirties. Annnyhoo, here we are! Nieema has confronted the mayor, and I tell you what, she ain’t happy. The Voaremonts’ are a hunting family, and she knows this. Most of the world knows this, but they have their hands in everything. She didn’t need a gravedigging ghoul to tell her, but his omission was enough. So! We shall see where this takes us in the coming chapters. Remider, you and me find shit out TOGETHER! I am a proud panster and love a challenge. I have been struggling, though, y’all. Keeping this light and easy has been rough. I’m trying not to be heavyhanded with darker themes (I LOVE DARKNESS). That’s not what Patchwork is about, and I will keep it as such until the very end of season one. I do have an ending in mind, but who knows if it’ll go my way. HEAs are a vow, but how do we get there? Who knows. Soooo, with this week done, I want to bid you farewell, bookie. Until next time, stay hydrated, stay cool, and stay outta folks’ business. Thank you so much for stopping by. You’re a grand human. Byyyyyeee.
Five business days and Jasper was back to the basics. Work and commissions. From five to twelve, she held the store down with Cherry. Her one and only co-worker was a delightful woman with two kids and a school schedule. She was busy and about her money. Her name was apt, considering her favorite color was red. She said folks thought it was corny most days, but Jasper was biased. Being into red and a beautiful shade of carmine, she saw no issue with it. Cherry left her to the norm. Customers who never needed help and window shoppers. The job was easy as hell and a quick way to make some doe. With next to nothing in her account, Jasper was giddy when Buck texted her about direct deposit things. She’d get a few dollars by next Friday. Settling into a routine, Jasper was happier than she’d been in a while. After spending time with Nieema, she needed a minute alone. It’d been too long, and her body was out of practice. Her power and will wanted to suck down every drop of Nieema’s soul. The urge to devour her bit by delicious bit was terrifying. Jasper could’ve killed the poor woman. With her succubus nature showing out, she decided on space and time. Distance made her grow fonder. It had an old demon yearning at six in the morning with a hand between her thighs. Jasper had texted the Queen. To say hello, to remind her that yes, she was still here. Jasper was available and uncomplicated; desperate. Her smile above and below was sweeter than honeydew. With nothing much to do, she drifted. Daydreams consumed minutes and hours. Soaked in pomegranate red and plum purple. The vision of taking her once again was all-consuming. And to think, Jasper hadn’t even touched Buck. “Fuck.” “My bananana pudding will fix whatever has you cussing like that.” Jasper popped forward in her chair and dropped her boots to the floor. She stood as a gorgeous woman with pastel pink hair sashayed forward. She was light on her feet and suffocating. Her sugar-coated soul was cloying, tacky. Jasper loved her already and became enamored as she placed a dish of banana pudding on the counter. “You must be Maggie,” Jasper met the woman halfway and extended a palm. “It’s a pleasure.” “Silly woman. We hug here.” Jasper beamed, welcoming a comforting embrace. She smelled of coco butter, mangos, clementines, and brown sugar. She was a goddess and her soft pats were lovely. Jasper didn’t want to let go as goodness and warmth surrounded her. “There we are,” Maggie held Jasper at arm’s length. “You’re precious, honey.” “You are about to make me cry.” “Sometimes a shedding is what we need.” The woman shrugged and wagged a finger. “Youuuu, are in for a treat. I added more cookies than bananas.” “How could you possibly—“ “There ain’t much I don’t know. How’s that charm working?” Jasper cleared her throat and checked the strange, glowing rock hanging above the door. It pulsed with potent abilities. Metallic and sour, it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Good, I’m guessing. I haven’t seen him.” “That means it’s working. But—“ “I know, Buck said I can’t leave the store until my ride is here.” “You don’t have a car?” “It’s busted at the moment.” Maggie twirled, her colorful corset dress fluttering. She was a splash of whimsy and delicate on the eyes. An older woman, perhaps, but her spirit and soul were youthful. Two French braids framed her heart-shaped face and full cheeks. Beads studded her pink and silver tresses while rose gold glittered. “I know who can help you with that.” Maggie stared out the window and tapped the glass with a long, painted nail. Sparks pinged on the glass as she hummed. “Tre. My nephew can handle anything under the hood of a car. Leave it to him, he’ll have your lemon up and running in two hours.” Jasper shook her head and checked on the banana pudding. The plastic lid did nothing to hide all that sexy. Whipped cream, nilla wafers, and thick pudding. She grunted, stroking her chin. “I might have to get his card or something.” “I’ll give you his phone number.” Maggie pivoted and wriggled fingers festooned with gemstones. “Anyway, I came by cause I wanted to give you this.” She snapped fingers and a bracelet dropped from the ceiling. Jasper winced and squinted, shocked and in awe. “What in the Undervell?” “Don’t overthink it. Huh.” Maggie offered a gold Cuban link. “And never you mind about the price. This piece has been in the back of my sock drawer for years. Can’t remember where I got it. Brasshorne maybe. No. Foster Pier? No. Well, anyway, it’s yours now.” Jasper accepted the gift and shuddered as power weaved through vein and bone. “What is this? I can feel its strength.” Jasper studied the links, searching for proof. “This is another magical piece.” Maggie giggled and nodded. “Yes, honey. Pure, untouched magic. My own spell and charm. I want you to wear this, and don’t you dare remove it.” As told, Jasper unlatched and slapped the cool gold onto her wrist and clasped it. The gold number complemented her other jewels. “Thank you, Maggie.” Jasper cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. “Your whole family is an enigma. I’ve never met anyone so kind or giving. After living in Misthill, I assumed most earth dwellers were no better than nightmare demons.” “It can seem that way when you’re over there in the big ol’ city. They got too much going on for me. Even Carver. Shit, my late husband looooved to travel, and because I loved him, I followed on behind his busy self. I wasn’t flying in no airbus, though.” Maggie was a jubilant woman, but she carried sorrow on her back. Whomever her husband was, she missed him dearly. “Well, if you need anything from me, you come running. My place is only a hop and skip from yours. I live on the ranch.” “Buck said something about that.” “Papa Buck say a lot. Old rooster.” Jasper laughed as the bell tinkled. Palison, the pretty half-brother, entered and stalled. He sniffed the air and scowled. “Witch!” Maggie turned her nose up and whipped a braid over her shoulder. “And who the fuck is you?! Don’t catch an ass whippin’, boy. You don’t greet people like that. Much more, you don’t piss off a powerful mage. I’ll slap the taste outcha’ mouth, swamp crawler.” Maggie rolled her eyes and grinned at Jasper. “Don’t you waste a bite of that pudding, now. And remember, never take that off. It’ll keep your past at bay and keep your foes from finding you.” “Thank you, again, Maggie.” “Nonsense. I’ll see you soon.” Her aura and soul had solidified in real time. The exchange was magnificent, and Palison was a man scandalized. Uncertain, furious, curious, and aroused. He watched her grumble out of the door and sneered. Jasper glowered and knocked on the counter. “Hello?” Palison inhaled and snapped to attention. “Is Buck around?” “Nah.” “Shit.” “Why didn’t you call him?” “What makes you think I have his number?” “Good point.” He spun and high-tailed it out of the store without so much as a thank you. “What an asshole.” Jasper hit a double-take and nodded. “Im’a need some privacy for this.” She rubbed her hands together and hustled for the break room in search of the biggest spoon she could find.
Low didn’t know which way was up as he yanked his boxers off the floor. He couldn’t focus or form a single coherent thought, and the male’s scent made it worse. Assssss hole. What was Low supposed to say now? Nothing, not a god damn word. Low grunted and pulled on his underwear. Halfway decent, he located his sweats. The shirt was harder to find. “Where is it?” He dropped to the floor, confused as to how it had crept under the bed. After dragging it out, he donned the cotton. Next, his glasses. Low squinted, hoping to find them quickly. “My glasses? Man, what the—” “Nightstand,” Red supplied. Low whipped about, spotted and plucked them. Sliding his frames on, the world appeared with booming clarity. He didn’t appreciate it. “You going to hell with that suit on,” Low murmured. “Pardon?” “You heard me.” “I assumed red was your color.” Low frowned and patted pockets. “What you mean?” “The Pirus tattoo on your arm.” There were several things wrong here. Red’s attention to detail was attractive. Low loved the suit and, yes, it was his color. Red, however, was getting a tad too close, and Low didn’t trust himself not to punch the elderly vampire in the face. Lastly, that chapter in his life was closed. “I turned over a new tree. Fuck a leaf. I ain’t banging no more. I haven’t since ninety-eight. Not that it’s your business.” In a pocket, he felt for the waiting blunt and fished it out. Low ignored the male’s closeness and opened the oversized window. He needed air, and Florida offered nothing stepping onto the patio. It was too damn hot for this shit, even with more rain in the near future. Precipitation gave no reprieve. Low’s lips hugged the blunt happily as he found a lighter and lit the tip. Stress-free and hungry coming right up. As Low inhaled, Red disturbed his nightly ritual. “You look like a French toast man,” Red stated, like he knew him or some shit. “Wrong. I do waffles.” The hell was his goal, after hearing their whole discussion. To humiliate Low further. It wasn’t being a bottom that bothered Low. Nah. He wanted to fuck and get fucked, otherwise, for him, a proud verse, there’d be no point. Low’s problem was how thoroughly Red obliterated him. At the end of the night, Low was a vampire. Halfbreed, but still a bloodsucker. Biology and instinct ran heavy in their species. He felt manhandled and small. Dominated. Low shuddered and pulled from the wood. “If it makes you feel any better,” Red sighed, “we are in the same boat.” “It don’t.” It did. Knowing Jaxon felt like a cum slut, too,o made his chest swell with pride. It meant Low had laid some mean pipe. “Maybe a little,” Low murmured. He extended the blunt to Red as an olive branch. “I’m working. The hell do I look like?” “No need to get smart.” Low snorted. “Uppity ass.” “Oh, okay. Mr. I’m working, don’t talk to me.’” Low chuckled, expelling a cottony white cloud. Warmth coated him from head to toe, promising a good night. “I can’t be distracted,” Low added. “I do real shit. I don’t be sitting behind a desk all night like you.” “You think you got everything figured out, huh?” Red asked, facing him. Low minded his eyes and lifted them to the sky. “Yeah.” “Where’s the food and blood? I’m really starving. Like, I’m about to throw up.” Low giggled as Max’s voice brought him back down to earth. He ditched the roach on the turnaround and watched as she searched for something. “Your phone is under the pillow, baby.” “I dont remember putting it there.” “You always do, though.” “So what?” Max tossed pillows and squealed. “There you are. Okay, purse, glasses, and phone. We move.” Low did the honors and grabbed her fuckin’ trash bag. Who needed a bag this big? She might as well carry a duffel. “Huh.” “Thaaank you.” Of course, she paid Red no mind. They never did this, stayed after a threesome. It was weird, and she was nervous. Low knew every look, fidget, and tell. “Alright.” Max donned her large, round hippie frames. “Solids, liquids? Where are they?” “Why are you so flustered, Maxine?” Jaxon asked. The grin on him was devious. She wrenched the door open and said, “I’m trying not to hurt you in some way, asshole.” “You already shot me. Is that gonna turn into a habit?” “I don’t know, depends on how you act.” Low snickered as they filed into the hallway. Max had a mouth and an inexhaustible need to use it as a weapon. But so did Red. “Play around if you want to, Maxine.” The male dropped down to her level and snarled. “I will snap your fucking spine in half next time.” Shorty had them shades on, but Low saw peeped her glower. Jaxon tried to intimidate, and in a different setting he’d get lucky, but the spell done wo’ off. “You mighty presumptuous, Jaxon. Assuming there will be a next time. As you heard we,” she gestured between them, “don’t do that. You know how it goes. This was fun…you seem great….so on and so forth.” Red snapped back to his full height and spun on a chuckle. They followed, close behind. Low needed a bite immediately. Their journey down an empty hall remained quiet, save for Red’s noisy shoes. The man was a force. His walk and talk demanded attention. And in a red suit, bruh had a way about him that made Low reminisce…Max slapped his arm. “What?” “Don’t,” She gritted. “I ain’t do nothin’.” She showcased a hand and shook her head. He wanted to assuage his girl with a kiss until they halted. “I never seen a kitchen so dark, damn bruh. It’s like a mausoleum. Too much black.” Low hopped three steps and jogged to the flat, matte island. “Oh yes.” Sitting down, he snagged a plate, and Max did the same. Low ran out of space, loading up on eggs, sausage, and potatoes. So, of course, he grabbed another and dropped on it. “You hate waffles,” Max said, too god damn loud. Not minding her own business, she popped her brows. “What are you doing?” “Girl, you know I lo—” Laughter punched from his chest. “I love waffles. Mmmm. Yum.” Low stole a quick glance. Red leaned ever so sexy like against the counter, handling a mug. “I have never seen you eat them,” she added. “You like French t—” “Shhh, shut up. I’m flipping it. Trying something new.” Max shrugged. “Okayyy. I’m telling you, they’re good.” No, they weren’t. Low hated them truthfully. Waffles got soggy quick with syrup pooling in soppy cubes. It wasn’t a horrifying experience. Never one to back out or cower, Low poured the sticky shit and shoved wet napkins into his mouth. He gagged. It was a textural nightmare. “Why don’t you just eat the French toast?” Red suggested. Low hesitated, but surrendered. Fuck it. Without looking at the man, he pushed the waffles aside. On a third plate, he stacked it with his tried and true. They went down easier because he lovvvved the mouthfeel and taste. When a glass of grapefruit juice magically appeared, Low downed it. He went in on eggs and sausage next. “You do this for everybody?” Low asked. Making sure to set a keen eye on the male dripping in red. “Yeah, it’s a common courtesy,” Red admitted, much to Low’s surprise. “Y’all not special. And Max, we are in agreement.” Biting into a danish, Red shrugged. “You don’t go back for seconds, and I didn’t ask for it. I’m good.” “Cool.” Max snipped, focused on her food. Low scraped up his French toast that held the bitter aftertaste of rejection. Double-dipping was against the rules. Their rules. And Low never overstepped. Individually, they were allowed to do whatever, but if by chance either found someone, then it was fair to let the other know. Low never met anyone worth enough to let Max go. Nobody made him yearn for more, aside from her. Saluting with his glass, Low smirked. “Glad we got it sorted.” “Feel free to let yourself out.” Red checked his watch. “I’m done with Tracy’s financial business, so…see you around, I guess.” Max considered Red for a beat and tilted her head. “Not likely.” “You two have a good evening.” Low nodded and scooped the last of his potatoes. Max giggled, but neither spoke for a minute. They left the house and were in his car on their way to the tattoo shop when he sighed. “That was weird,” Low said. “Riiiight? Talk about awkward. Jesus.” Max retrieved her vape and puffed. “I’m so glad he wasn’t needy about the whole thing, you know.” “Yeah, yeah. Me too, but at least we ain’t never gotta see him again.” “Who you tellin’, honey?” Fun as it was, a recurring threesome was bad news for all parties involved. And Low, for one, didn’t have time for that shit. He had kids at home and bills to pay.
*All predators catch their death in my books
Hours later, AB found himself wandering about in a shoe box. It was an apt description for Joel’s house. The low ceiling was less than an inch above his head. He examined cabinets overrun by ants. They scurried to and from boxes like busy little soldiers. He didn’t have much. Flour, baking soda, and salt. A blanket of dust coated everything, aside from one counter where a thick layer of grime waited to be scraped off with steel wool. The house wasn’t in bad shape,e structurally speaking. It had good bones but needed to be bleached. A pungent aroma of mold and rotted flesh made for one helluva cocktail. It added to the ambiance Joel’s nasty ass was going for. In the sink, dishes waited, and had been for a while. Creeping around the tiny four-burner stove, AB grew nostalgic. A quaint, one-bedroom abode with low-hanging beams and plank floors. Candlelight, instead of bulbs, and the smell of freshly baked bread replaced decay. AB and his mother lived in dozens of hovels and holes. But every so often, they lucked out. Acquiring enough coin for an actual home or cottage, with a fireplace and a roof. Where AB rested on a soft palate and not the ground. Squeezing through the hall, the floorboards squealed until he reached the living room. A lawn chair, a mounted forty-inch, and an empty beer can weren’t exactly inviting. AB hit a one-eighty and sprinted upstairs, where death settled on his skin. He stepped into a room that should have housed a bed, a dresse,r or even a desk. Being dangerously close to eight hundred years old, AB had seen it all and done enough. He didn’t have aversion to blood, gore, or homicide. But even he had to hold his breath and turn away. Caked layers of Lysol, Lyme, and baby powder didn’t help. “Fuck,” he whispered, taking in the scene again. AB growled. Vampires, at best, were decent, and some had the balls to do something compassionate, like save lives. Thanks to decades of dilution, humanity helped calm and tame their inner proclivities. AB worked hard to control his own issues. Massacres and serial killings were frowned upon. Most vampires didn’t give a shit about who they killed. AB only snuffed two women, and he had to, ‘cause they wanted to harm his mother. Two Behld witche,s soaked in black, blood magic, wanted his mother dead. He couldn’t let it be. AB didn’t have a code or nothin’, but he was raised by a woman, and held them in high esteem. He tried not to kill innocent men, but they tasted the best. In his days of overindulgence, brutality, and debauchery, he happily dined upon plump dignitaries with fat pockets. They were drained of blood and funds. AB used his dick and addictions to make the most of this life. But children were always off limits. No amount of money or blood was worth vanquishing a soul so young. His dark past was a safe space for nightmares, but AB never, ever touched kids. Dropping to a crouch, he stared at the little bodies, ill-wrapped in tarp and tape. They were so tiny. Decomposing toes and hands. There were twenty-eight missing children in this room. “He’s downstairs,” Ines said with a bite. The male had kids of his own, grown and in the world doing adult shit. He refused to look inside. AB shot upward, crossed creaking woo,d and snatched two duffels off of the floor. Pacing out, he coughed as the odor stuck to him like bad cologne. When he reached the bottom, he tossed the heavy bags in front of Joel. Mr. Liston sat in the lawn chair, as his legs had a motor attached. He chewed on fingernails with pupils big as dimes. Sweat beaded on his waxy, tight skin. “You lookin’ bad, Joe.” “I’m—I was only taking a little. You’d never notice.” Ines took residence on the last step and paid witness. “But I did. You must be smooth out your rabbit ass mind if you think I wouldn’t notice when five bricks of Brown Sugar go missing.” Lowering to his haunches, AB looked up at Joel and smirked. “I keep note of every ounce, because it’s mine. And stealing from me won’t be tolerated. Furthermore, your ass is high as a kite.” Standing tall once again, AB leered. “If you use my shit?! You pay me! You polished off two ounces, so where’s my motha fuckin’ money, Joe?” “I don’t have any money an—” He looked back at Ines, but AB slapped the bitch back around. Blood splattered all over his shirt. “This is Gucci, you sick fuck.” AB growled, shaking his head. “You stole my product, refused to pa,y and now… You ruined my favorite shirt. Bitch…” He chuckled and studied the mess. “You know, humans have one life, and don’t live past a certain point. But us, we are so much fun, ‘cause no matter what you do, we breathe. We are sturdy, solid. I mean, unless you cut our head off…or have halo bullets on-hand.” Ab strolled over to the four-pane window and peered at the moon. “Torture ain’t no fun with humans. You push too hard, they break and wither. Not us, though.” “Please, AB,” “Four years you’ve been on my payroll and I,” AB purred, pinning Joe with a searing glare, “paid you well. I give everybody raises and shit to avoid situations like this. But youuuu Joe, are greedy. So, we’re gonna see how much that stomach can hold.” AB nodded at Ines. He hopped to it and sprinted out the door. Staring at Joe, AB smiled. “I’ll kill you for stealing from me, but I’ma have some fun for what’s upstairs.” “Don’t you judge me. You’re no be—” “I what? I ain’t never hurt kids.” “They wanted it, they begged me to love—” Ab’s backhand found Joe’s face. The assault sent him careening. On his side, the male choked on his own blood. “You the worst kinda vampire there is. We don’t have many taboos, as you know.” He rammed a Nike boot into the asshole’s stomach, making the prick heave. “But we all agree that children are out of the question. No siring, no feeding, no killing…and definitely, no…touching! Ah, Ines, you’ve come with gifts.” His old friend entered, carrying a box full of things that made him happy. “What do we have? Boric acid, sulfuric acid, pliers, drills, and hammers? Nice! Arsenic, molten silver. Oh shit, I can’t touch that. Uhmmm, ooo mercury! You know, I’ve taken a sip of this. It’s got a citrus tinge. Oh! Bella Donna. Ines, you shouldn’t have.” Keeping a fanatical eye on the sick bastard, AB dropped to the floor, punched through his mouth, and ripped out that slick pink muscle. “I don’t need you screaming.” Gurgles and moans filled the silence. “Drill.” He pushed Joe’s lanky body over, popped the button on his jeans, and unzipped. Ines handed AB a Craftsman,n and once the males member was free, hands tried to intervene. “No! No. You weren’t shy with those kids. Why be bashful now? Move!” AB smacked his drunk fingers. “That’s why you got a small dick, Joe! Open wiiiiide.” The head of him winked just as Ab kissed it with an auger bit and pulled the trigger. Joe worked hard to holler, but Ines held his mouth shut. Mr Liston thrashed as the spiral bit dug deeper, shredding skin and muscle. Blood oozed over AB’s knuckles as the drill worked like any food processor might. Eating him raw and tearing his urethra to shreds. Ab enjoyed the carnage and freedom. Droplets whirled, and mangled pieces landed on his face. Tiny chunks of meat covered clothes and speckled the floor. “Look at that.” AB giggled. “Pate.” He removed his hand and sucked the pureed fixin’s from each digit while Ines yanked Joe’s molars out. Just in case. He went for fangs, and his green eyes disappeared to the back of his skull. “He tastes like shit,” AB admonished. He spat and grunted at the foulness of tainted flesh. “Yeah, all those drugs. Now you’re gonna be high, dumbass.” AB laughed. “That’s the least of my worries. I wanna work him over slow. Like a pot roast. My dogs will love the bones. Chauncey has a thing for femurs.” “I thought he liked tibias,” Ines said as he popped the cap on a tub of bleach. “Yeah, that one dude up in uhhhh, Tallahassee, who robbed you.” “Ohhh no, yeah yeah. Chauncey did like his tibia, god. He gnawed on it for weeks. I’ve gotta flay em’ good this time, though, and roast the bones so there’s no residuals. No bad stuff for my babies. Okay, down the hatch, Joe.” Ines poured bleach into his pie hole until it overflowed. He’d wake and drink it eventually, but a little Bella won’t hurt. At least not yet. This was another all-nighter, but of the bloodiest kind. It gave AB something else to focus on. Because the alternative irked his fucking nerves. AB dropped Bella into Joe’s mouth. It mixed with bleach. Soon after, odd fumes percolated. “Maybe we should wear masks. Where are you taking Char for your anniversary? “Oh shit, you’re right. Last time we passed out. I still got some in the trunk. And as for Char, she ain’t getting nothing. I’m taking her co-worker, Tonya, out instead. The bitch has got knockers like you wouldn’t believe. Hair platinum and legs for days.” “You’re a piece of shit, Ines.” “Eh, it takes one to know one.” “You are most certainly right.” “The wife ain’t going nowhere. She knows I get curious. We’ve been married for eighty god-awful years. Her yakking about money and whatnot cost her another anniversary. Maybe the old bag will shut the fuck up from now on.” The male cackled in his crackly, husky manner and ran outside. Ines was a four-hundred-year-old Bostonian. He smoked like a chimney and used pomade in his hair. His style remained in 1960. If Ines didn’t wear a knitted shirt and trousers, something was wrong. His buddy, as if he was auditioning for the next Scorsese mob picture, was proud as hell of it too. “Okay, here. I got a whole box of N-95s from—” “Don’t speak it, please.” Ines grimaced as they put on masks from another time. Years Jaxon wanted to forget. Humans weren’t the only beings who had a shit time. Set and ready, he and Ines got busy. This was a great way to end a night.
Nieema wanted whatever the succubus wanted to give. And yes, she wanted that god damn tail. She salivated and flexed below the waist. Her pussy seeking company, someone to strangle and hold. Her tapered tail was dangerous for some and even had poisonous barbs, but now it flicked with sensual promise. It was a fat, prehensile demon with telling knots and bumps Jasper had manifested for this special occasion. “Yes,” Nieema rasped. She tracked its slow sweeping motion and nodded. “Yeah, I want you to put in and don’t stop.” “Look at you, so greedy for it.” Nieema hissed and grasped Jasper’s face, plunging into another kiss. She rocked against her pliant, buoyant form and moaned, tasting every note. Buck, Jasper, and even her own water. It spurred her into movement. Nieema rolled, more than ready to bounce and ride. Jasper clung to her, claws catching on her ass. The tiny pricks of pain added to a new, yet familiar brand of euphoria. Desperate, she severed their kiss and clutched Jasper’s horns. The woman was flushed. Purpled cheeks and gold dust painted her red complexion. It was beautiful, gorgeous, and quite the portrait Nieema committed to memory but hoped to see for a while longer. “Talking won’t get you anywhere nice, demon. You can either fuck me this instant or see yourself out.” Wolfish and sharp-edged, her smile spoke volumes. It was clear she wasn’t amused. From a striking molten ocher to hot iron, her eyes flared. “You got too much bass in your voice, Your Majesty.” “And you, are working my last nerve, woman! I need you to fu-fuck!” Speared and impaled. Nieema wailed, grasping Jasper’s smooth horns. She groaned as heat radiated and seeped; spread.
Heat tackled Nieema as Jasper’s tail twisted and coiled. “Ooooo shhhhhhit.” Nieema gasped; heat and lust encapsulated them. Sweet flames of pleasure licked at her slick skin and teased. Jasper pushed and stretched with abandon. Every knot and inch waged war against her G-spot. Nieema tossed her head back and hissed. “Ohmyfates. You so good.” Hot, scorching lips fell upon her shoulder and neck. “Damn, girl.” The succubus growled and purred. “I knew that pussy was good.” Nieema bucked with her quickening motion. She keened, enjoying the slip and melody. Their bodies connected, and Nieema consumed her whole. She took her thickness and rolled on it. With each deep dive, she whimpered. As focus waned and eyes escaped to the back of her head, the world vanished. Magic and succubi wiles traced every curve of her body. It twined with her senses and laved over her. As if she’d been taken by five, Nieema registered hands, lips, and fingers. In her ass, on the clit, and pinching nipples. Claws raked her back as Jasper claimed her mouth. Her tongue slick and hot, thickened. She was transported to another plane of fiery desire. Nieema sucked on her and rode it out. The demoness lacked decorum and shit. She was unkind inside. Jasper hemmed Nieema up quick. Using her tail for the worst, she arrived with swift punches. Her thrusts were lethal and strong, causing Nieema to lose all wits. She held onto the woman’s horns and took it on the chin. Jasper beat her down and delved into her pussy. She made it talk back and bite. Desperate, Nieema growled and chased her withdrawal. Jasper slapped her ass and made Nieema suck her down. She choked on it until the woman let her breathe. “Yesss!” Nieema roared and panted, bouncing on it like she’d never been fucked a night in her life. “Shit, Jasper. God damn youuuuu…” She tasted her arousal and mewled as Jasper clenched her throat. The demoness heaved and hugged Nieema close. “Give me what I want, Nieema,” Jasper said, voice trembling. She worked her tail and demanded action. “You will come for me. Show me them fangs, lover!” Nieema quaked and made her ass clap. She tussled with her thirst and urge to nut. “Ohhhhhshiiiit. Oooodamnnnit.” “Let me see you break, Your Majesty.” Buck scented smoke spilled from Jasper’s lips and provoked Nieema’s hunger. She inhaled, wanting every dose she offered. Her need to feed overlapped with a painful pang to cum. “Ffffff—uck! Tear that shit up, girl.” Nieema bit her bottom lip, drawing blood. She clasped them horns and tensed as Jasper’s monstrous magic galvanized within. Desire, pleasure, and lust clashed with her own. It swelled and overwhelmed. Nieema ruptured. Two-fold. She’d loosened, convulsing, shivering. Bursts of passion gushed, coating the succubi’s tail and thighs. Jasper bellowed, calling Nieema by name. She locked arms around her and chuckled. The guttural sound was too much for her delicate sensibilities. Nieema snapped Jasper’s head to the left and begged. “Let me feed. Pleeeease. Let me have your precious essence before you depart.” “As you wish,” Jasper whispered. Hot and cloying, her blood rushed. Fang deep, Nieema took her and gulped. She purred at her throat and warmed as the gorgeous succubus nourished her once again. More than sated, Nieema licked wounds closed and kissed each mark. “Thank you.” “The pleasure is all mine.” Nieema swallowed, loving how her blood and pussy lingered. “I don’t know about that.” She met Jasper in the eyes and smiled. They were back to their normal shade. Goldenrod amber. Sweet as her natural nectar, she grinned. “Now I see why he don’t play about you.” Nieema giggled and sighed, cradling Jasper’s full cheeks. “I can cook too, you know. And, I’m talented, smart, courageous, and fine as hell. There is more to me than my perfect pussy.” “You are all of that and more, I’m sure.” Nieema sniffed and dropped hands. “You cute. I’d tell you to keep talking, but I need a shower. How about you join—“ “I can’t.” Nieema was the one who’d laid everything bare. On the table, clear for her to see. Full transparency. She’d erected boundaries not even an hour ago, and yet, she wanted to obliterate them. Nieema didn’t want Jasper to leave so soon, but had no choice. They were here for the vibes and shit. Nothing more, nothing less. “Okay, yeah. Of course.” Nieema cleared her throat and figured herself foolish. Jasper was far from the first woman they’d met and fucked. And she wouldn’t be the last. Ignoring the weird prick in her chest, Nieema hopped off the woman. Palm open and outstretched, Nieema called her house robe. After donning satin, she snatched up the woman’s clothes. Jasper had twisted and wrapped her tail. Tucked high and out of sight around her thigh. Nieema hated it and wanted to know why a succubus born in hell was ashamed of such a beautiful part of herself. It definitely had something to do with Trevor. Nieema forced a smile and handed the articles over. “Thanks again, Nieema. You woke this old succubus up.” “Happy to help.” Sliding into them tight shorts, Jasper beamed. Fangs and a telling gleam in her eyes was quite a portrait. “I bet.” “You fed well, I take?” Nieema asked, chin lifted. “Indeed.” She loomed. The succubus snickered and stole a kiss. One more and she was gone. The door clicked, and Nieema grunted. “She a good one. Different. Her power is beyond any we’ve had. I thought she was gon’ tear me in half. Whew, chile. Look at you, freaky ass.” Buck slumped in his chair. Butt ass naked, dick on limp and sullied by his own hand. Nieema cackled at the sight. “Bring your ass on, Moss Balls, let’s get cleaned up.” “I couldn’t help it, you know how I get watching.” “Hm. I’m sure you had quite the show.” “Y’all was rocking steady, baby.” He high whistled, following her into the bathroom. “And she is sumn’ else. God damn, I wanna tackle allat jelly.” “Looks like you gotta be patient.” Nieema turned on the shower and stripped. “She just don’t know how good it’s gonna be with her teasing me like this.” “I envy the woman,” she said, twirling on her toes. Nieema hugged her husband and kissed his hair-dusted chest. “In the meantime, you want me to scratch that itch for you?” “You damn straight. Come here and gimmie that suga’!” His love put the sun to shame; it brightened him. Nieema would never grow old or tired of his obsession. He was a good man who loved his woman, and Nieema was the luckiest vampire in the world to have snagged the very best Fate had to offer.
Listen, let me tell y’all something, I didn’t want them to fuck yet. I really didn’t. I wanted to make them wait another chapter or two. But Jasper and Nieema wanted this to go their way. I kept fighting it, but in the end, they won! And Nieema, the poor woman, she’s enamored. I can’t blame her. And yo, the idea of Buck being a shameless Cuck is so funny and thrilling. I love him with my whole heart. He’s gonna crack that succubus wide open. I know it. I have an idea how and when this will happen…But I hope y’all love monster romances. Anyway, thank you so much for being here. I couldn’t do this without y’all. Have a lovely week and HYDRATE! Byyyeee, Bookie!
A suit was one thing, a mussed dress shirt was another. But this, the lack of formal wear, suited Jaxon well. Max’s thoughts were in a continuum. Visually, he overwhelmed her. The heady cologne waged war with its high, dark notes and a sweet musk riding low. She’d lost her tongue in the car and battled an impulse to moan. “Where are we anyway?” she asked, as Low helped her out of the car. And, oh yeah, him too. “What she said.” Low smiled deliciously. What had she done in her past life to be tortured so ruthlessly? They were thick pieces of vampire male, and standing between them, waiting, Max never felt small or delicate. And she was a far cry from demure. Low was Jaxon’s speed, so it was good if he wanted in on that. Elliot Collins often used his sensual elegance to get what he wanted most. “So…” Max cleared her throat. “I heard you the first time.” Jaxon lowered a lidded gaze and grinned. “We’re going to my friend’s house. You remember Ines?” Smoke swirled in murky, mid-June air and framed his perfect features. “Of course, the Italian from Boston, not New York.” “Nice observation. Let’s go.” Jaxon started their journey, and they fell in line willingly. What would a man like him want from her? Nothing was the answer; that’s why Max knew his interest was a farce. He had a fluid gait and voluminous waves. The color of an irate Venus sky and adorned with thin strips of spooled gold. It was gorgeous. Unnatural. Max felt sleazy, gawking like a swooning teenager. She focused on Low, who was no better, and jabbed him in the torso with her elbow. “Don’t stare,” she whispered. As they marched down a quiet street, Max gathered from high brush and gates that this was a classy neighborhood. These people made more than her father, median easily in the multi-millions. Mansions towered behind stone and ivy. “I would have liked a heads up, bruh.” Low pulled from his blunt and purged smoke. “I typically like to look better for a kick back, you feel me.” “It’s not that serious.” “Still, I prefer it.” “What you searching for?” Jaxon glanced back at them with a nasty smile. “A compliment?” Low shook his head when the male faced forward. “If I was? You up here in the latest and greatest. Balinchi-gaga and shit.” Max frowned at her lover. “Don’t do that, you know better than anyone how good you look. Name brands mean nothing.” He cocked a brow. “Says Shorty in Chanel.” They embarked on an incline that turned into a winding drive. At the tippy top was a decent home, if you loved dreariness and glass. The house was nothing more than tinted windows and steel beams. “Wow, I dig the architecture.” “No, you don’t.” Max dismissed Low’s lie. He loved inviting and warm. Wood and greenery. Nothing too bright or clean. Whereas Max enjoyed modern, architectural wonders. After taking the shallow stairs, Jaxon didn’t knock before opening the door. When he barged in, they followed, and Low grabbed her hand. Oohhh, how she swooned over his protective streak and attentiveness. Entering the house, various scents and sights captured her attention. The cool air was a jarring contrast to the sticky summer heat. Creeping through a narrow foyer, they brushed shoulders and squeezed past kissing, grinding couples. Bodies on top of bodies. Music drummed in her ears, and she appreciated the vibe. Glass Animals was a good choice given the intimate atmosphere. Zaba was a great Album, their best, to be frank. The foyer opened to a three-way street; Jaxon banked left. Max was grateful for wider halls and the breathing room. “Damn.” Low chuckled and said, “I like this party.” Standing slightly above the crowd, Max giggled. “Me too.” Their trio stepped into the sunken living room, doubling as a nightclub,b and eyed some goodies. “Aye,” Jaxon shouted, nodding at someone. A female, a woman, a human. Max licked her lips. The girl bounced over and stopped in front of Red, as Low called him. “Hay AB, I got some left, you want a sip?” Jaxon didn’t respond, but his actions were swift and visceral. He yanked the woman by the back of her neck. She dangled three feet off the ground as fangs penetrated. There was growling, slurping, and carrying on. “My third leg finna start walking,” Low whispered into her ear. Max choked on laughter. “I’m serious. Look at him.” Oh, she was looking alright, and trapped in hell too. Little Miss was happy when her feet touched the hardwood. She sighed, as if he hadn’t almost killed her. “Y’all want some?” “Sweetheart, do you know where you are?” Max yelled in the girl’s face and clutched her shoulders. “Have you been drugged? Abducted? I can get you outta here, my taser is my bag, honey.” The wee one let a high-pitched laugh slip. “No. Why would I wanna leave? I’m making money. And my mortgage needs to be paid somehow.” “Oh.” Max relinquished the bitty and nodded. “Ohhhhh okay, I get it. My bad.” She shot a glance in Jaxon’s direction and regretted it. The male sucked on a digit and licked the tip. “I thought, you know.” “You have a problem with not reading the room,” Jaxon clipped. Low giggled and added his commentary, though no one asked. “She do. I tell her all the time.” “Shut up,” Max growled. “Nobody asked.” With Red leading the way, they weaved through a tasty crowd and landed on an enormous sofa. “Every human you come across is being paid to be here.” “Damn,” Low muttered. “Like that?” He was astonished, and Max shared his view. “Yeah, and if you partake, tip them.” “What you mean, tip?” Low grimaced. He was a cheap, penny-pinching grandfather at times. They didn’t go to strip clubs often ‘cause of it. Despite Max begging for a trip to K.O.D., he remained a Scrooge. “For what?” Low queried. “They are providing a service, sir. So it’s only fair if you tip. They have a half pint minimum; if you go over that, it’ll cost you a blue note.” “God damn,” Low snarled, sitting on the arm of the couch. “What kinda scam you running up in here?” “I don’t have anything to do with this. Do you want anything?” “Nah, I’m good.” Max bit her tongue, knowing he only liked cold blood. For valid reasons, but still. “Nothing? We have about twenty humans up in here.” “No Red, damn, stop asking me.” “He don’t like hot blood.” Low hissed and shoved her. “That wasn’t any of his business, yo big ass mouth, bruh.” Jaxon’s stare raked over Low, disgust riding his pretty face. “Oh, so you weird, weird. This is extremely odd behavior for a full grown vampire. You know how it looks, right?” “Listen, calm down with tryna fit in, talk white,” Low spouted. Jaxon cackled, and Max wanted to dip her tongue in those dimples. “What does talk white mean? I speak how I want, how I have for over a hundred years. You don’t like it, kiss my ass.” “Ooooo.” Low chuckled and diverted attention to some ugly girl. She was lanky, bowlegged, and her hair was dry. “There you go, being uppity again. Don’t make me break yo ass in, bruh.” Max gasped and smacked his shoulder. “Be nice, Low. Don’t be doing too much, now.” “I don’t give a damn, and I need a drink, I know that.” Jaxon threw both arms over the couch and watched as Low ascended. “What gives you the impression I need to be broken in?” Another gasp punched through her mouth. Though Max kept her hands to herself this time. “Y’all are getting mighty candid. Should I give you two a moment alone?” Low snorted. “Please, he don’t know what to do with a king like me.” “Can you bring me back something?” “I don’t think they got no brandy, baby.” “Then tequila on ice.” “Ight, don’t get fresh, Red… unless she lets you. But I wanna watch.” “Get the fuck!” “The bar is upstairs,” Jaxon smirked. “You can bring me back a glass of cognac. Neat.” Low ran off with a giggle, and that ass bounced with him. Jaxon glanced at Max and leaned into her. The action made her melt. “Are you into that weird shit too?” “Me? No, but I need a ripe one.” Scanning the room, she took in the droves of men and woman. “I want her.” Max pointed to a stacked, tall dame in a corset. She filled out the top and bottom. Jaxon high whistled. “Carmen!” “Of course, you know these women by name,” she mumbled, not surprised because he exuded ‘no good ass man’ arrogance. His attitude and demeanor made that shit clear as day. Carme used her bountiful hips like weapons. “Hay big daddy, how you doing?” “I been better, she wants a nibble.” Carmen held a warm smile as she sat next to Max. Her blessed map of veins illuminated beneath glowing mahogany skin. Ambient lighting was her best friend. God damn Black women were gorgeous. “They treating you good?” Max asked. Carmen recoiled. “They always do, and they pay, okay.” “You so pretty, and you smell nice, too.” “Awww, thank you.” Max admired her corset, growing more envious by the second. “Where did you buy this fit, though?” “Torrid or Fashion Nova…I can’t recall, but it was one of the two.” Max nodded but stared at Carmen’s main, pulsating artery. It taunted and tempted her empty stomach. Licking her lips, Max noticed how her fangs had come on down to play. “Well, where do you um… You know, wrist or wherever?” “Right,” she laid a hand on the curve of her breast, “here.” “Okay.” Max agreed, quick and without deliberation, she growled. Sinking fangs into Carmen’s flesh, she gripped onto her waist. Digging deeper, Max gnawed. Max hadn’t taken a fresh vein in five years. This shit was a narcotic, addicting, and soooooo much better than drinking from a cup. Max would rather not stop, but knowing she must, and when to, she paused. Her forehead rested on Carmen’s shoulder as the heart slowed and the body went ape shit. Pleasure and euphoria worked like any vice. She groaned and settled into a cloud. “Oh my god, Carmen,” Max smiled. “You are sweet and full-bodied, baby.” “Thank youuuu. I work hard for that.” “I can tell, shiiiiit.” The music reverted into something slow, chopped, and screwed. “You gotta a uhhhmmm,” her mind buzzed with feel goods. Lazy and dragging, her thoughts came together, “Cash app? Zelle?” “I sure do, honey.” After sifting through her heavy bag for what seemed like eons, Max found her phone. “You deserve a nice tip, Carmen.” Tapping numbers, she giggled. “Three hundred should do it.” “No, no I—” “Shhhhhh.” Max waved at the chit chat and sent her funds. “There you go, doll. Us big girls gotta support each other, okay?” “Thank you, baby. You want anything, AB?” “Nope, I’m good, love.” Carmen rose with them thighs, and Max sighed. “I enjoyed that very much.” She giggled again and said, “I can’t even think straight. It’d be nice to get that every night…” “Why can’t you?” Jaxon asked, his buttery timbre casting a naughty spell on her. “’Cause it’s unnecessary, Red.” “I’ve never let anyone call me that.” “Until Low? Yeeeahhh, I get it, but you need to watch how you talk to him. He comes on friendly, but in truth, Elliot is as nice as a rattlesnake in a box.” “Noted. I still want your number, though.” Lifting a heavy gaze upward, their eyes met,t and she had issues with talking again. “No, you don’t. You only wanna pity me and make jokes.” He chuckled. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I told you already. There is a pecking order; we both know how it goes. I am not a pureblood.” “I give no fucks about no league or vampire etiquette or class. I’m not into none of that dated shit. I don’t adhere to things like pecking orders anymore. And I haven’t for a very, veeerrrry long time.” Drifting to his full lips, the tips of his fangs made her shiver. This was lust, unbridled and unhinged. “Don’t let me interrupt.” Max inhaled and tore his attention away from the Pureblood as Low handed her a cold glass. “I wouldn’t say you were interrupting, Elliot. Where’s my drink?” Low cackled, sitting on the armrest nearest to her. “Muh’fucka, you are more than capable. Fetch your own Hennessey, shit.” Max shook her head and said, “I told you.” “Told him what?” Low gripped the back of her neck. “You running your mouth behind my back?” “Yeah, now get off me!” Slapping his hand off, she sipped the bitter alcohol once, then gulped. “Oh, this is my song.” There was no way Max would sit down while Janet was on. Getting to her feet, she held out a hand. “Low, get your fat ass up and dance with me.” “I don’t want to.” “Are you telling me no?” Her eyes narrowed. “Girl—” She grabbed hold of his t-shirt and pulled him down to her level. Smiling, Max flicked his ear and hissed. “Be good, and I’ll let you taste it in the bathroom.” “Fine, you wanna dance, let’s dance. Damn, baby. All you had to do was ask.” She snickered and looked at Red. “Watch my purse.” “You not giving me orders.” “I just did. Unless you plan on letting someone steal my shit.” He snarled, and with that, Max dragged her man to the middle of the living room.
The show put AB in a mood; their two step wasn’t so PG. Moving ass and hips, they were in sync. It was an erotic waltz AB appreciated. Max had soft curves Low handled with finesse. Frothing with jealousy, AB growled, wanting them. It was a familiar sensation he remembered with fondness. For a time, bedding two or three at once was commonplace. Prey excited him, up until getting what he wanted. This pair would get two or three nights tops before AB called it quits. At the moment, he wanted to touch something. To wedge himself between them and make music of their own. Low took Max from behind while she did the impossible;twearked with jeans on. The tight denim barely stayed on her ass. Ohhhh, how he filled with glee knowing she was real. Every inch supple and untouched. Dimples and cellulite. He grunted as the vision gave his dick a start. AB had to get the hell away from them before coppin’ a brick. Rising, he yanked the female’s handbag and pushed people out of his way. In a foul state, booze and a blunt would do him well. He cleared the steps in a single bound and trekked back toward the foyer, but kept onward. Ines had bleak taste in decor. Grays, blacks, and polished ash. On the way to where he slept on occasion, morbid, monotoned paintings of mutilated bodies winked at him. Grotesque shit. To be fair, Ab killed many. He occupied various jobs in his lifetime, and not all were above the line. Some required homicidal acts. As a pureblood, he welcomed a carmine-soaked chaotic profession. Alas, the wonder and joy turned to static, as did everything else. Food, sex, money, and shit had long ago become white noise. Though he did love a lengthy shopping spree annnd okay, getting his dick sucked brought about massive doses of pleasure. Plus, yeahhhhhhh, his dogs made him happy. Okay, maybe AB wasn’t that broody, but life grew stagnant on occasion, god damn it. Stopping at his bedroom door, something sparkled against the high gloss floor. “Ooooo.” He plucked the small button and gleamed. “I like this one.” The brushed metal had a shimmery quality he adored. “I did it.” AB stashed the button in his pocket, and Ines showed his face. When AB entered, he crossed the vacant womb of a well-dressed guest suite. “You did what?” AB asked. Tone scalpel sharp, he tossed Max’s bag in an armchair. “I got you a meeting with Paola.” “Good.” He smiled and wheeled around, making sure not to touch the Afghan with his soles. “That’s great news, bro, it’s your fucking job after all. What she say?” “You think she talked to me?” “Where am I going?” “She’ll be at your place on Saturday.” Stupid bed whench was throwing her annual fit. “Sure, I’ll be there.” Willing the glass wall open, he wished for a ripple, a whisper of cool air, but there was no breeze to be had. At least the crescent moon grinned from above. Ab sauntered onto the patio and longed for company. “Aye, go get my guests.” “You’re really gonna bang the fat bitch?” Facing Ines, with his turned-up nose and judgment, Ab sneered. “Why do you have to be so disgusting? Why does she have to be a bitch?” “She’s fat too.” Ines grimaced. The male had a preference, fine, cool, whatever, most people did. As stated once before, AB did not. If there was a hole, he’d fill it. What they looked like mattered naught. In passing, he frowned. “When has a woman’s size ever mattered to me, Ines?” “Yeah, you love pounding the fatties.” Ab meandered down a hallway flanked by his-hers walk-ins. He peeked in his, then stepped into the washroom. “Do you feed them when you fu—” Snapping his fingers, AB killed Ine’s prattle. AB was done. “Shut your god damn mouth and do what I said. Now!” Towels, tissue—whipping around, AB glared at Ines, who had yet to move. “Okay, okay.” Palms raised, the bastard retreated and left him alone. This space looked nothing like the rest of the house. Light gray instead of black, plush instead of flat. He preferred lighter hues and comfy over style. Although the twain met at his place of residence. AB slipped back into the room and found himself at a tiny wet bar. Hennessey, Remy Martin, Courvoisier, Gautier, Pierre, d’Ussé, Frapin, Hine and Martell. There were over two hundred brands of cognac; he had a lot to choose from, but four at present. He went with Hine. Just as drops of brown trickled down, the door flew open. “I know you better have my purse, I specifical—oh, thanks.” Max had a baaaaad habit of speaking before thinking. “Wooow, this is nice. What is that cherry blossom? This ain’t nothing like whatever funhouse shit he got going on out there. Dark and moody. I like it in here.” “It smells and looks like Home and Garden vomit,” Low added. “This is a middle-aged suburban mom’s wet dream. I’m getting heavy Cape Cod vibes.” “That’s what I was going for,” AB said, turning on the sound bar. Zapp and Roger. “You don’t know nothing about Slow and Easy, white boy.” “You’d be surprised by what I know, Maxine Bernice Bissette.” With derisive laughter, she ambled toward the revelatory. “Yeah, I’m sure you do, pop pop. You got on those leak barrier depends tonight?” Low cackled from outside, as a thick cream curled in the night. Of course, he threw in his two cents. “Got some Fixodent in your pockets, granddaddy?” “Nah, but I got a heavy dick you can suck.” Max re-entered and ripped her shades off. “Well, god damn, you are feisty. You right, Low.” “I told you, baby. One can’t be gentle with a muh’fucka like him.” Their back and forth sparked curiosity. “I love how you talk me about when I’m not around. Please do go on.” Max settled into the armchair, while Low filled out the chaise. Her eyes traced AB’s frame; he relished the attention. In their imperfection, her eyes were unique and fiery. “So Max…” After knocking back the rest of his liquor, AB set his empty glass on the bar and started. “You mind answering a question for me?” “Depends.” Giving Ms Bissette his full attention, he crossed his arms and asked, “Did you know your father is laundering money through your tattoo shop?” Kindling lust evaporated. “Wha—I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her lids peeled as she diverted to Low. “No, no. He’d never do that to me.” AB shrugged and sighed, venturing toward the chaise. He claimed the spot next to Low, who shared her disbelief. “I’ve been digging for days now,” AB continued. “It’s not hard to figure out. Your father is a year away from jail time. He hasn’t handled whatever it is he does well. “Shady property buying, the businesses that aren’t making enough money. I mean shit…” Dragging his gaze to Low, AB bit his bottom lip and wasn’t sure if they’d stay after this. “There has to be another explanation.” “Nope. A shit ton of money is coming in, and not enough going out.” Max dropped her purse on the floor as the mood soured with her expression. Now he felt kinda bad. The uncomfortable sensation intensified when she choked. Head falling into her hands, Max sobbed. “I can’t take anymorrrre. Oh…oh, my goddd.” AB grimaced and tried to think of something worth a damn to say. Think, think, stupid. ‘Haaay, there there’ no, fuck. ‘Let’s not be punk about—no! While he ran through several responses, her wails intensified. She turned hysterical. Sobs spun out of control and almost resembled laughter. Yeah, like giggling? Max lifted her head and dropped the act. Max cackled like a lunatic. Confusion racked his brain until she stopped on a dime. Her pristine arched brows knitted. “You thought you did something, huh?” “Wait, what?” “My Daddy is laundering money through my shop, because I let him.” AB recoiled. He would have never suspected such a thing. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.” The female stood and closed the distance between them. Her short ass loomed in front of him. “All I wanted to do was fuck,” Max said. “Why you have to go and ruin it?” She shook her head and stepped outside. “Now that you figured us out, what you plan on doing with this information?” The muzzle of a gun grazed his temple. “Are you serious?” AB growled at Low, who held the steel steady. He definitely used it, more than once. “Deadly,” Low said. “Ain’t nobody finna pull my shorty card, Red. And I like you, I do. It’s sad, and wasteful, ‘cause you fine as hell. But I got a full clip of halo bullets, and wouldn’t think twice about putting your pretty ass in a motha fuckin’ casket.”
AB worked a lot as late and through the weekend. He stayed home last night to regroup and relax. Tonight was fully booked, with plans aplenty. Ones that called for black on black. Givenchy broken logo joggers, a tank, and Balenciaga speeds. Monotones made sure an assortment of gold pieces became the highlight of his outfit. Neck, ears, fingers, nose, and wrist. He was dripping in twenty-four carats and wasn’t shy about it either. Sex was pretty close to wearing fine fabrics and jewelry. Acquiring luxury brands damn near made AB orgasm in any given boutique. The high he received from shopping was intoxicating, and it didn’t stop at Kiton. No. AB just loved buying shit. He was an impulse shopper. Tupperware or Dior. Brand made no difference. Especially during long trips to Five Below. He needed an intervention for his addiction. Such wonderful things he found at TJM. God, the priceless doodads. A box made from recycled barn wood? Yes! He desired it. A mirrored owl figurine? Yeah? Big-eyed dogs embroidered onto a pillow? Fuck yesss! Sucking down a lung full of a Moonrock blend, AB checked mirrors. Was he being ghosted? It was a date or anything, but common courtesy and all. He’d been parked under his place of work for the last thirty minutes. A text came through at around 4 pm, agreeing to an outing. AB hit back with a location. Seeing as they were still strangers, he offered to meet at Brickell Condominiums. Low texted thirty minutes ago. How long did it take to…well, he had no idea where the man lived. Holding a creamy cloud, AB clutched his phone, eager to send another text when a rumbling engine and bass-heavy music alerted the senses. I’m Da Man? Yeah, E-40. Releasing smoke, he noted a sedan six spots down as Low parked beside him. Before hopping out, AB grabbed his FOB, device, and blunt pouch. With everything in hand, he emerged from the great value ride. “Well, God damn, Red!” Low’s size was a surprise, to say the least, being a halfbreed and such. They were neck and neck, almost. Non-threatening, he considered AB and smirked. “I shoulda wore my Give-inchy too. Tryna look cute, tuh. You can’t see me, though, on your best night.” Low rounded to the passenger side and listed against the classic big bawdy. AB couldn’t speak with a blunt between his lips. He observed smoke streaming from his nostrils. AB didn’t want to laugh in the guy’s face, but he was clearly delusional. Poor soul. It don’t get any better than Jaxon Aubrey. Was Low ugly, unseemly, or drab? No. Absolutely the fuck not. Even in a t-shirt and sweats. Gray. Pulling the backwood, AB signaled to the chunky boy downstairs. “You plan on using that?” Low reeled. “You checking my shit already? I usually like some conversation and—” “The gun, dumb ass.” “Aye, watch yourself. And only if I have to.” He shrugged, opening the door. “Can’t be too careful with headhunters running about. Let’s go, Red. That summer moon is shy.” When Low slid in, AB stepped to the driver’s side and eased behind the wheel. “Whoooa shit.” The woodgrain was smooth and crisp white interior butter soft to the touch. Smelling like flowers. “Wait.” “Boo!” AB flinched like a pussy when the female sprang up. He gave Max and Low more than enough to amuse them. “Oooo, the salty, sassy alpha be skittish.” She was a delightful sight, but her glasses were an irritant. After a quick hit, AB smirked. “Maybe it’s your face,” he said in good humor, ‘cause she wasn’t ugly either. Far from it, actually. Max had silver screen old Hollywood beauty on lock, but those tattoos launched her into the ethereal. AB loved ink on everyone. As he glanced at a snickering Low, Max hollered from behind. “Don’t be messing with me, Irish Spring,” she hissed. “I am not in the mood. I’ll shove my taser right up your ass.” AB stabbed the dash in search of good music and took her ‘threats’ with a grain of salt. She was five-two, maybe three. “You hella annoying, to be honest.” “I aim to please, Jaxon,” she chimed. “You better believe her.” Low paused to light his own wood. “She done tased me a few times.” While AB messed with Bluetooth shit, she yammered on. Cautionary tales or whatever. Max had a pleasant, silvery voice, so he tolerated her loquaciousness. “There we go.” AB grinned. Max screamed in celebration, and Low coughed, spewing smoke. “Muh’fucka! Is this Whitney Houston?!” “I know that’s right!” She clapped. “Low only plays rap garbage all night. This is real driving music.” Max giggled on all in his ear. “You like Whitney, Big Red?” “I love Whitney.” AB glanced at Low, putting the Chevy in reverse. “I dare you to speak ill of my late queen.” With the blunt back in his mouth, he turned up I’m Your Baby Tonight and floated onto the street. The Monte Carlo SS was a magic carpet ride. “Listen, I ain’t got no issue with Whitney, but damnnnnn.” Low toked, then spoke on release. “You a cold-blooded alpha, bruh. How and why are you cruising around bumpin’ this? And, you white.” “I’m Irish.” He cackled, but AB grimaced. “Where can I…” Low tapped underneath the stereo and revealed an astray. “Thank you. And what does my complexion have to do with anything? All that shit is inconsequential. Music is universal; it’s for anyone who wants to listen. There ain’t no restrictions.” “That’s true,” Max added as a foul, manufactured blueberry odor assaulted him. “What is that?” “My vape.” AB smacked his lips. “It stinks.” “I hate it too,” Low muttered. The city was alive with those coming and going. It was 10:30 pm, and most were on their way home or off to get into some shit. They were the ass end. “You live in Brickell, with all those other rich folks?” “No, I work there.” “Ooooh, right, right. Your accounting office?” “We call it a counseling office,” AB corrected, but had zero intentions of talking about work. “I have to hand it to you, she rides great. Smooth as silk.” Low chuckled and puffed for a minute while Max sang along to Mark Morrison. Music was AB’s first love as an adolescent. That’s why he liked everything; hell, Vivaldi might play next. Perhaps Stevie Nicks, Korn, Nat King Cole, Michael Bolton, Etta James, or The Beatles. His playlist was on shuffle. “Low built this car.” “For real?” AB asked, fully invested in Low’s response. The male’s wry smile spoke before he did. “Not built. I restored her a little. You know, put something fresh on the body, and got up in them guts…” His glittering storm gray eyes swung over right on time. “I fixed what was broken, but I’ma replace the block in about two years.” AB nodded, ignoring the sexual undertones in his statement. Smashing for Coconut Grove, he hit a few lights, but kept things nice and easy. “Aye, make a U-turn right quick,” Low suggested. “What?” “Just do it.” Once able, AB doubled back and whipped the bitch. “The hell going on.” “What’s wrong?” Max asked. “I have no idea, but we being followed. Seriously, I’ve watched them tail us for the last ten minutes.” Retrieving his blunt, AB laughed and made another U-turn. “What you doing?” “Don’t worry about it.” Low bolted upright, looked at Max, then pegged him with a hard stare. “I don’t know you, and ain’t nobody finna put my shorty in harm’s way, fuck you mean.” “They’re with me.” “The tail?” he blurted. “Yeah.” “The hell you have them fa’?” AB inhaled his Moonrock skittle mix and entered Coconut Grove. No need to divulge sensitive information this early on. He wasn’t even sure if it’d go past tonight, but who knew at this point, right? His passengers were a desirable hodgepodge of gardenia, Bergamot, and Shea butter. The aroma was erotic and enticing. It’d been years since he had a menage. God willing, he’d have another soon. Max appeared in his peripherals and stared. “How old are you? Where are we going and why are people following us?” AB snorted and said, “You ask too many questions and haven’t answered mine.” “You ain’t asked me nothing.” “I will.” “Okay, how old are you, whe—” She lurched forward as they came to an abrupt halt. “You ‘bouta go on my list, Irish cream.” “I’m seven hundred and twenty-three, and getting older every night.” Low hacked and leaned forward once again. “You the oldest vampire I’ve ever met. Holy shit. I thought you were like, three-fifty, four hunnit or something.” His eyes traveled from north to south. “I mean you well kept, though, Father Time. You are older than this country and the Declaration of Independence. You’re older than this whole state. The dirt we walk on, you older than—” “I get it! Oh my god.” AB snagged his blunt, killed the engine, and tossed keys to Low. “Oh fuck! You almost hit my dick, be coo’, bruh. I know you don’t need yours no more, ain’t no way it still works, but mine is fine.” Max cackled like a hyena. He found the sound unappealing yet adorable. “This shit will get old, fast.” “Awwww.” She patted his shoulder, and he loved the contact but shrank away in irritation. “Poor alpha feeewings hurrt.” She giggled again. “Move, so I can get out.” “Ask me, nicely,” AB growled. “No, move.” “I said, ask me nicely.” Low jumped out of the car, groaned, and pushed his seat forward. “Let’s go, baby, I ain’t got time.” “Ha!” Max cocked a brow as her ‘friend’ offered a helping hand. Ab followed, intent on setting some motha’ fuckin’ boundaries.
Goooood evening, y’all. I hope you’ve had a phenomenal week! I’ve been editing mostly and adding to Patchwork. If you don’t know what that is, it’s my fantasy serial. It’s lighter than this and lower stakes. Anyway, this week we get a glimpse of The Troublesome Trio. I had A time writing their story, and you’ll continue to see why. I know this chapter was short, but you’ve got quite a bit coming in the next two weeks (maybe sooner). A little action, SMUT, and Maxi antics. Once again, I’d like to thank you for still being here. Stay amazing and hydrated, y’all. See you next week, bookies. Byyyye!
Low was in his element. Standing over the six-range Viking, he tested his famous gravy. “Mhm. Can’t get no better than that.” Some spent money on cars, jewels, and watches. Nah, he loved plants and kitchen appliances. Subzero, Vikin,g, and Mielie. They were Boujee and pricey, but when you were a homebody, you needed reliable shit. And in this age of obsolescence, expensive goods tended to last longer… as planned. On the menu for tonight was slow-cooked garlic pork roast, fried cabbage, truffle mashed potatoes, and homemade French bread. Not his loaf, but Max’s. The female baked her ass off but could not cook rice. Washing hands, he nodded at the boys who were in the living room, lounging like they had not a care in the world. Low turned the warmer and timer off. “Ashton, can you set the table?” He heard a whistle and shuffling. “Teddie, kill the game boy. It’s time to eat.” “Yup, I’m super hungry.” “I know the feeling, bruh.” Mitts on, he retrieved a loaded pan filled with sizzling meat from the oven and marched to the table. “Ohhhhhh, Low, that looks amazing.” “It’s finna taste better too.” “I believe it. I told Ron you make the best shrimp and grits in Florida. He said, ‘hell nah, my mama does.’ So, I said ‘bet’. You have to make some shrimp and grits now.” The boy talked a mile a minute and took no breaks unless he had to breathe. “How you volunteer me like that?” “Simple. I know yours is better.” Ashton rushed around carrying utensils, cups, and condiments. He loved setting the table, but Low knew it was more so outta habit. Pops made damn certain his sons set the table for their entire lives. Low had done it ‘til moving out at a hunnit and twenty years old. Sides joined the main dish, and seconds later, they were seated. Low ate breakfast or lunch with them, depending on how he felt. But supper was to be eaten at the table. No matter what, at some point during the day, he enjoyed a meal with his siblings. “Hands.” Palms up and outstretched, he gripped the smaller ones. Bowing their heads, Low waited for Teddie. It was his turn. “Lord, we thank you for the food you allowed us to have. And thank you for giving my brother the know-how to cook it, and in Jesus’ name, bless those who are without bread. In Jesus name we pray, Amen.” “Amen.” Low paused talking to stack protein on his plate. “How’s gymnastics going, Teddie?” His brother smiled and passed around the mashed potatoes. “I’m second in ranks.” “That’s what’s up. You been going at it all month. See? Practice makes what?” “Perfect,” Teddie sang. Theodor was a happy teenager on the cusp of manhood. Sixteen, innocent, and never been in the streets or seen a gun. Their parents did well until the moment they left. “I have a shot at the championship this year.” After loading his plate, Low clapped palms with Teddie. “I know you gon’ make it. And if you keep going. You’ll get that scholarship, too.” Teddie beamed, his brown eyes shining with pride. “I know I will. It’s about manifestation. Max told me—” “Here we go.” “What?” Teddie frowned with a mouth full. “She’s right. A positive mindset works. You stick with it and make things happen. When you realize how powerful your own thoughts are, the faster you can wipe out negative energy.” Low laughed and shook his head while chomping on potatoes. Looking at Ashton, he ran a hand over his short, pre-dreads. “And what about you, boy? How are you doing in the band?” Ashton nodded, dropped his fork, and signed. It’s going good, though, I’m still kinda bad. I think the violin is my instrument. I really mean it this time. “Are you sure?” Low asked with a smirk. “You ain’t tried drums yet.” Ashton shook his head and signed. Nah, too noisy. You know I love classical strings. I just had to decide. Cello, violin, flute, clarinet, trumpet. I got the piano down, thanks to Max. But I’m sure it’s the violin for me. I like how it feels in my hands. It speaks to me. This little boy was fourteen and growing too damn fast. Ashton was seven years old when they were abandoned. Now, he wore braces, stood five-foot-seven, and talked about girls. Pretty soon, he and Theodore would be grown men. Time ain’t stop for no damn body. Low smiled, flashing fangs. “Whatever you do, it’s gonna be great, Ash. Once you learn a skill, you excel. I’m proud of you.” Glancing at Teddie, he said. “Both of ya’ll. I just wish I could be there for competitions and recitals. I’m sorry about that.” The middle brother shrugged. “You always say sorry for things you can’t control, Low. You didn’t ask to be a vampire who has a sun allergy. It’s the weirdest thing. Don’t you think, Ash?” He nodded and signed. It makes no sense. And then, one day, I’ll be allergic too. But I’m more of a night person, anyway. “Yeah, but you remember,” Teddie shoveled cabbage and snorted. “You remember when I put garlic in your room?” “I do.” Low sipped his cold, sweet blood happily and smiled. “That was when I first told you, right? Yeah, yeah. Y’all wanted proof so bad. You put garlic under my pillow and about burned me to death.” He side-eyed Ashton, ‘cause that sneaky boy got him fresh out the shower. Low walked into his room, and Ash ripped the curtains aside. Ashton rolled his eyes and signed. I believed you afterwards. “Yeah, I would hope—” The doorbell interrupted their chatter. Standing, Low checked the time. 9:30 and barely vampire hours, but he had called for Mrs. Piper to watch the boys, since they ain’t know how to act. Hitting a u-turn, he jogged out of the kitchen and hustled for the door. “Max?” She waved from beyond the glass. “Hay, baby. I was just about to text you, too. I was finna hea—what’s wrong?” Her feet dragged along with her face. Maxi was a positive ball of happy-go-luckiness. Sometimes, her never-ending jubilation got on his last damn nerves. But when Low closed the door, sadness clogged a dark silence as her forehead met his chest. “What’s the matter, Max? Talk to me,” Low said, his demand terse. Linking arms around him, she mumbled. “What is it?” He stepped into the bar area, entrance adjacent, and sat on a stool, pulling Max onto his lap. “Woman, you gotta speak up.” Low hated it when she was sad and blue. It didn’t feel good on the inside. Cupping her cheek, he yanked off the frames and tossed them on the bar-top. “I’m getting married,” she muttered, about ready to cry. Low heard those words, but the loud racket behind his ribs made it tough to make out. “You what?” “I’m getting marrieeeed.” Hands dropped away as he recoiled. Who would have thought he’d care this much? Low remained willfully ignorant for years. He refused to scrutinize what had blossomed between them for his sanity, her mental health, and the job. They had an agreement, an arrangement that worked great, but… “When did you meet somebody?” he asked, unable to look at her. Staring at rows of top-shelf liquor and hanging martini glasses was a better game plan. The sudden feeling of betrayal had him fucked up. It was unwanted and ridiculous. They were grown adults who set boundaries from the first time they… “Low?” “You said we would tell each—” “Oh, my god. No, I didn’t meet anyone.” He cut back to Max with questions. “I don’t understand.” “My dad did this.” He jacked to his feet and paced. “What the fu—what the fuck?!” Linking fingers atop his head, Low halted and gawked. “Are you playing with me right now?! Max, don’t play. Please don’t.” “I’m not. This guy named Matthias came over, and basically, I have to…” Some shit hurt Low’s feelings, other things turned his pillows red. Then some issues and dilemmas made a man wanna rip his own heart out. And to be trill, this was the second time Low felt the latter. As Max explained the whole ordeal, he wanted to vomit. What was finna happen? Was Raymond Lawry going to take her away? Would they move out of state? The bleak thought threatened every bite he swallowed. “Is everything okay?” Teddie asked. His concern called Low’s muddled mind into the present. “Uh, yeah.” He nodded. “It’s fine. Max, baby, you hungry?” Shaking her head, she smiled. “Hay Teddie.” “We have mashed potatoes.” He knew how much she loved the spud. Ashton ran in next, slipping on socked feet, and slammed into her. “Hi, kid,” she chimed as the boy pulled her into the kitchen. “Guess I’ll have a bite.” Both of his brothers were taller than she, but it never stopped the woman from babying them. Low was about to flip. Like, he needed to smoke, or he’d kill one of his children. Not the boys, but a plant. They were his kids. Well, not all. Some were closer to him than that. “See.” Teddie showcased a tub crammed with slices of bread. “He even let us have some. Cause you know he’s stingy with it.” “It’s mine, the eff you mean.” Low barked. Max gave him the nastiest scowl in return. “No.” She snarled and said, “I will tear you up. Y’all can have as much as you want, and if you like, I can make another batch tonight.” When they sat, Low cleared his throat. “Mhm, nah, I’m heading out. Which means you are too.” “I don’t wanna.” “You do.” He smirked. “Where are we going?” Max asked, handling baked goods. She smeared butter on its fluffy white top. He shrugged. “Don’t know. I ain’t the one driving.”
Good evening, y’all. I know it’s late, but it’s still Friday! This is a win! Also, I am writing this half asleep, but I did it. I really hope you have a terrific weekend, and per the norm, I want to thank you. If not for y’all, I wouldn’t keep doing this. Your time and interest mean everything. Have a wonderful Memorial weekend, loves! Byyyyeee.
Close quarters and molten delight. Buck wasn’t one to push or the sort to add pressure until within the arms of promising darkness. He let folks live and die however they wanted. There were too many petals to pluck. Why worry himself silly over one fragrant flower? It was no secret that he was for whoever wanted him. Be it man, woman, or them, he’d be there. Slipping between walls and digging ‘em out. He wasn’t picky. Buck had a good woman with great pussy he tasted with every swallow. “There ain’t much to it,” Buck said, smoke puffing and curling. He applied another price sticker and glanced at Jasper. “You got it.” “Surely.” “How many jobs have you had?” “Not many, but enough.” “You like dealing with people?” Buck asked, plucking his pipe from the shelf. “And don’t be shy. Consider this an interview.” “Thought I had the job already?” Gold flecks sparked in her eyes like agitated fireflies. Jasper’s unbidden attention yanked at his soaked roots. “I need some personal info to put on paper. Mater fact…” Buck brushed past the demon, and she chuckled while he was left to burn. Her scent dared to raze his soul. “Step into my office.” He sauntered between stacks and units. Shelves cluttered and dusty. Nieema hated the task and refused to handle it. The aroma of sawdust, mulch, and metals reminded him of them early days. When the hardware store was their only means of making ends meet. Buck smiled and trekked onward, across twelve hundred square feet. Their first baby had grown up and out since times of old. “We gotta fill out that application and such. Got health care and whatnot.” The back of house wasn’t shit but a bathroom, office, and an adjacent break room. They cut wood outdoors because Buck couldn’t stand the sight. They weren’t sentient trees, but watching the work made his ass itch nonetheless. “Let’s see here.” Buck hustled to the bookshelf, set his pipe next to a fussy ficus, and located the folders. He snatched one and dropped it on the desk. Jasper was a cold piece, feet kicked up atop glossy mahogany. Ankles crossed, she rocked in the chair, hands on her soft belly. Buck grunted and smacked her loafer. “You don’t pay for nothing. Feet off my shit.” She cackled and snagged the folder. He picked a pen from the holder and offered it. Jasper snatched the damned thing and locked her scorching stare upon high. Buck matched her indignation. He smoked in silence and gathered much from her quick script. “I don’t take to demands well, Buckley.” “Sumn’ else we got in common, huh?” She flipped pages and continued, eyes on the application. “Your wife is beguiling.” “I agree.” “Nieema was respectful and forthcoming. Intent on fucking me.” Buck grunted and ambled, mouth to the teak tip. He waited a tick and stared out the single four-pane window he’d installed nearly two hundred years ago. Still held up, much like his marriage. “You tryna make a case or convince me of somethin’?” “I don’t want you to think I came onto her. Or that I sought to do anything with your wife.” He scoffed, clouds undulating as he pivoted. Jasper finished her duty and leaned in the chair. “I wouldn’t care if you did.” “Understood.” He sniffed, smirking. “What’s your plan now?” A dire wolf might deem her smile a threatening show of fang. Buck loved this part. He adored them self-assured types. A pretty woman to step on his neck and make him beg for pain. The sweet dame who’d clutch his nuts and make him pray with reverence. She’d do it to ‘em. Buck believed this succubus to be kind, personable, and everything her kind wasn’t, but she had the beating pulse of a domineering demon. One he could trust to do him right when the occasion called. “I don’t want complications,” Jasper asserted, rising. She pressed forward and rounded the desk, seeking to devour Buck right on up. Her magic spilled and pooled between them. Fine florals, sweet nectars, and spice. He inhaled every note and became a glutton within seconds. She settled on his tongue, coiling around Nieema’s essence. The richness roused his old bone and wood. Buck inched closer as she grabbed his pipe. He watched, fascinated. Jasper pulled with ease and exhaled. Smoke billowed, framing her strong features and capped horns. The succubus pushed his most prized blend through her nostrils and said, “I’m at a point in my life where all I seek is peace. What y’all bring to the table is trouble, and I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone in my face. I don’t want to be paraded around by king and queen.” Buck shivered as their proximity forbade another breath. Breast to breast. Heaving and creaking under her sheer demonic weight. The air was thick with it. Lust, desire. It laved the skin. He growled and bore into her gaze. “I don’t want my business in the street.” “You got my word,” Buck rasped, drunk on her presence and scent. She hadn’t pulled a single succubus card, but he was ready to drop for it. Crawl and kneel for a crumb. She paused for a second hit, and squinted. “I don’t want expectations.” “There ain’t none.” “You aren’t easy to read,” Jasper said, grinning. “I find this to be both thrilling and terrifying. It’s sickening how undeniable your darkness is. Heavy, potent, you carry on the wind and strangle me. I’m choking on it even now. Don’t make me regret this, Buck.” “Never.” She placed his pipe on the desk and sat on it. “You may touch me now.” As if the soil demanded him to, he heeded her words and closed the distance in half a second. He locked an arm around her waist while his width forced her legs to part. Buck claimed Jasper’s mouth and demanded entrance. She gave. Allowing him the pleasure of exploration. Sweeter than morning dew and honey tree sap. He threaded claws through her short hair and gripped strands. Jasper responded in kind. Lighting him ablaze, she fisted the fabric at his back. A telling heat pulsated on his bricked dick. Succubi came on strong as hell and turned that ass into a fiend. He wanted to be seated within her. Deep and burning between her luscious thighs. He growled while she hissed from the belly. It was packed with deadly promise. Buck wanted her bite. He craved her fang-filled kiss and loved how she took to him. Desperation fueled their fire. Flint to parched tinder, he was ready for conflagration. “Hello?!” The holler ruined their moment. Buck rumbled, furious with the world. He snapped her head back, and she yanked herself free. A beat later, teeth and fangs penetrated bone. She’d struck him quicker than a pit snake. To cool his ass down and keep from nutting in his pants, Buck escaped her clutches. He stumbled into the shelf and patted at the bite wound on his shoulder. Blood seeped, staining his t-shirt. “You ain’t shit!” Buck yelled, rushing to pluck a tissue from the box. “It’s seven in the evening and you biting motha fuckas’. This—you know wh—I got something for you.” Jasper laughed, pleased with herself. She leveraged weight on her palms and shrugged. “Who says I want it?” “Don’t get cute.” “I’m not.” She slid to the floor and said, “I have plans with the wife.” “Mhm. Yeah. I bet you do.” She arched a brow while Buck blotted. He loved the sting, tug, and burn. Jasper had no idea how close she was to getting fucked out in this god damn office. He would have, but something about it ain’t sit right. Buck was going to give this demon more than a quickie in the back of his hardware shop. She deserved more than that, and he was more than happy to give her time if need be. “After you, ma’am. I got customers.” “We have customers.” Jasper winked in passing and exited on her high horse. “I want my first check on Friday.” “You can want it all you like, don’t mean you gon’ get it. The hiring process takes time.” “I need the money, Buck.” She spun about, walking backwards through stacks. “I’m serious.” “You want me to spot you a few—“ “No!” Jasper fussed about not taking handouts anymore. He truly didn’t give a fuck and wasn’t about to let the woman talk him down. She’d take his money and like it.
Happy Tuesday, I know it’s a day late, but bookie, the 9-to-5 is gnashing its teeth. Taking a chunk right out of my ass. Buuuut, we persist. We keep it moving and march forward. Just like Buck and Jasper! We have arrived! First kiss for both husband and wife. They’re cute as hell, and I’m still discovering new things about them. Jasper has no fight left, and I feel her because Buck is some fine shit. Big, bold, and dark. We love us a morally gray forest daddy, don’t we? I know I doooo. Anyway, I love how they’re not taking each other seriously while being nothing but themselves. Jasper isn’t one to fuck around, and Buck ain’t either. He loves to be handled with care, but make no mistake, he can and will make demands. I’m anxious to get these three alone. And the moment I publish this, it’s off to see about them. With that, I will bid you farewell. Until next week, folks, have a wonderful night. And don’t forget to drink more water, watch your favorite show, and get some rest! Byyyye.
The following night, Tracy checked his reflection once more and tugged the pocket square. Pressed, extra starch. He swiped a hand over his taper fade and snapped cuffs. For many a night, he considered himself the best. Trudging through mud to get where he was required a strong mind and will. He’d been born into a scholarly family. Doctors and teachers. Of course, an education couldn’t hide one’s skin color. For countless years, he walked this wretched earth and experienced things his child would never understand. If his father hadn’t stolen those bonds, there was no telling where they’d be right now. Though finding out his own son was dyslexic had been a blow. Tracy’s father thought him a lame, unintelligent, and disposable. At least he left his mother with money and means to provide. In his youth, Tracy was lost, working odd jobs, longing for an intellectual path. To do something worth a damn. That’s when he met Bernice. She was by far the most gorgeous woman he had laid eyes upon. She was a learned gal from Nigeria. Smart, kind, and patient. She helped Tracy overcome his literacy issues; thus, their love story began. “Beginning of the end.” A knock called for his attention. Striding down the hall, connecting the vestibule and his bedroom, he noted Jaya’s presence. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asked. “I am only trying to do what’s best.” “You honestly think this is best?” He couldn’t stand it. Her disappointment and knitted brow. She wasn’t fit for an expression so sour. Jaya was divinity embodied and warmhearted, but had no right to question him. “I do. It is a beneficial merger.” Jaya’s laughter wasn’t that of joy. “A merger. What is happening to you, Tracy? You are fucking with her life.” Averting her judgmental gaze, he marched to the wet bar and did his ultimate best at preparing an old-fashioned. “She will be grateful.” “This is not the 19th century. It is unacceptable.” “To whom? There are plenty around the world who practice such things.” “Yeah, and it’s wrong.” Tracy sighed, dropped ice, and faced Jaya. Beauty remained despite her fury. Verily, she raised the girl, so her protective nature was predictable, but she wasn’t Maxine’s mother. He was reminded of that every night. Swirling his drink, Tracy stared into the chilled, brown pool. “Max is my child, not yours.” He matched Jaya’s vexation. Her glare glinted behind welling ruby tears. He strongarmed an aching desire to comfort her. “I know what’s best for my child.” She scowled and left in a hurry. There was an unmistakable pain in the center of his chest. An agony he’d come to live with. Stuck in a sort of purgatory he himself built from the ground up. Tracy still mourned his beloved and wanted to honor her, even in death. But this was killing him. This silent, personal storm. The suffering never ceased. His hands trembled, ice rattling in the glass. “Stay the course.” Tracy growled and launched vintage crystal across his room. It shattered on impact, taking his antique standing mirror with it. Shards dangled at odd angles. With pieces missing, his reflection fractured. The world did this to him. Life and death were both something to fear. Tracy didn’t wish to die, but wasn’t sure if he wanted to live anymore, either. On a spin, he grabbed his dinner jacket and tweaked the pocket square. On his way to formal living, Tracy plastered on a smile. “Ah, Matthias.” Tracy extended a palm, and they shook like proper gentlemen. “I do apologize for my tardiness.” The male released and inclined his head. “It’s okay. Your gracious staff kept us busy with a phenomenal slice of hummingbird cake.” “Oh yes.” He gestured to a younger male sitting on the couch. “My daughter made it. She knows her way around an oven.” “Magnificent. We do love a cooking woman.” Matthias Lawry was a grand vampire of some three hundred years. A rich pureblood with an old maroon gaze, money, and connections. He stood tall and confident. His son, Raymond, on the other hand, was nonplussed. Matthias cleared his throat and yanked the boy’s arm. “Get up and shake the man’s hand.” Raymond grinned, offered a greeting, and committed to it. Tracy had socks tighter than his grip. “Hello, Mr. Bissette.” “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Tracy added “You too.” Like pulling teeth, the boy wanted nothing of it, which was understandable. “Please, have a seat.” When his guests returned to the sofa, Tracy took a load off in an armchair. Crossing his legs, he started in. “So, Matthias, has Raymond been informed?” “He has, and my boy is ready to meet Maxine whenever she is ready.” “That’s wonderful. She should be along shortly. I’ve told her to take the night off. Max typically wakes up around ten or so.” Matthias smiled kindly, while his son sat deflated. His body molded into the cushions as his shoulders drooped. He should be grateful. Because of this, they were all better off. Tracy only knew of one other vampire who sold heathens to the highest bidder, and he stared at them. Matthias Lawry was an asset, and they’d make more money working together. If there was one thing Tracy loved more than his late wife… it was currency, and their topic of discussion. They spoke of stock markets, what to sell, and when. Who were the best investors and who offered the best rates overseas. “Dad.” “Oh, Maxine, I’m glad you’re awake.” Ohhhh, how fancy. She could have spruced up a bit. Her hair looked as though it’d been windswept, there was shit in her eyes, and for the love of god… a Winnie the Pooh onesie. Maxine was an adult who wore footie pajamas. Perhaps he should have told her beforehand, but Tracy had much on his plate. And with her, this approach was best; she had nothing to contemplate. His daughter would choose wrong every time. “Maxine, this is Matthias, and his son, Raymond.” “Okay.” She shrugged. “Matthias and I have decided you two might make a lovely pair.” The girl looked at Raymond, then slowly turned towards Tracy. “Dad, can I talk to you alone, please?” “Absolutely.” “Excuse us.” “No problem.” Tracy followed Maxine into his clean office and shut the door. “Dad, I am not ready for a relationship. It’s kind of you and all, but I don’t need you to set me up.” “It has been five years, Maxine. It’s time you find another husband.” Her arms crossed and brows gathered. “I don’t want another husband. I don’t ever wanna be married again. I don’t ever, ever want—” “You can’t hide away forever. What purpose will you serve if you are not someone’s wife?” She winced as if he’d shot her. “What are you saying?! A female, or woman, is not born with wifely duties strapped to her back. We are more than dolls to look pretty, cook your food, and grow babies.” “Watch your tone.” “Or you’ll freeze my accounts, I know.” Tracy held his tongue and sat in an old chair he’d bought in 1972. Things weren’t made the same anymore. Including women. A girl in Maxine’s position would have been over the moon some eighty years ago. His daughter was from that time, but she’d lost all sense and grabbed this modern age by the balls, as it were. She fit in with them, conforming to this generation and what they called freedom of expression. “You know what we have at stake, don’t you?” He watched her peruse shelves full of books he forgot to read. “I can’t forget.” “You wanted in Maxine, I let you. So, I’ve got another job for you.” Her multi-colored irises were magical in nature. One Red, the other quicksilver, they were striking and unique. He and his daughter emerged from the womb imperfect, but unprecedented. Tracy loved her eyes because they shaped her into someone special. Alas, the dual pigment haunted him as well. When Maxine was born, he became filled with a renewed sense of purpose and an immeasurable amount of love. Sadly, in the same moment Maxine opened her eyes, Bernice took her last breath.
Max wouldn’t like whatever he had to say. She dropped into the armchair, waited for her father to speak, and picked lint off her onesie. Helluva night to wear this thing. She loved onsies. They made her feel safe and warm, like a security blanket. She carried a fluffy crochet blanket Jaya had made her for fifteen years. Tracy made her burn it. The day they started making onesies for adults, she got in on that and never looked back. “Matthias is a runner, like me.” Tracy asserted. “Nope, not gonna like it.” “He’s wealthy.” “So is his son.” Glancing at her dad said yeah, she was right. “What does this have to do with me?” “You and Raymond are going to marry.” Max’s stomach hit rock bottom and lurched as she slammed her eyes shut. A vile, slow burn accompanied the rapid beat of her heart. “I have my limits, Dad, I can—” “You can move on with your life. Be who you once were.” “I can’t do this.” Pinning a blurry gaze on her father, Max begged him. “Dad, I can’t. I don’t… this isn’t right. How is this fair?” “Life isn’t fair, Maxine.” Max linked arms tightly across her seizing chest once more and wanted to puke. “I know you hate me, but I don’t deserve this.” “I don’t hate you,” he refuted. “You do, and that’s fine, whatever. I’d hate me too for what I stole from you. But I don’t know how to apologize. You shouldn’t keep holding it over my head, this… this is too much. You are stepping over a line here.” Tracy Bissette had a stick up his ass. He was high-strung and unflappable. Serious, judgmental of others, and nagging. He was strict and rode Max behind since she learned how to talk. But her father was never cruel, until now. Max had to know why and how he’d even think to agree. “After everything I’ve been through…” she whispered, just about ready to curl into a ball. “No fault of mine,” Tracy spouted. “I warned you about that boy, Maxine. I told you to seek help. I have said many things you chose to ignore.” He was right, but the past had nothing to do with the present. “How can you sit up here on your high horse and jus—” “I have no choice,” her father ground out. “Yes, you do.” Tracy was ever composed with a highbrow and stiff back. She’d never seen him truly smile or express real emotion, negative or positive. Right now, however, he was undone. Fidgeting, twiddling with the blotter, and drifting off into space. “Matthias is a runner who will not accept competition. This is more of an insurance policy; if we don’t abide, well… his wife is a US senator, and now, he knows what we do. Things can go from congenial to shit quickly. Do you understand?” “Oh my god, he blackmailed you.” “Indeed.” She saw anger on her father’s face, real anger. Lip twisted into a snarl and fist tight around a personalized letter opener Jaya gifted him with last Christmas. “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “What does he have to gain from this?” “My compliance, Maxine. A joining of our families would mean peace. It’s an old strategy to avoid war, but still relevant. If you don’t do this, that’s it. You will have to leave the country.” A giant batch of ifs-ands-buts frothed within her brain matter. “I can’t leave… what about you?” “It’d be prison or death.” She couldn’t breathe, and the urge to vomit worsened. Leaving wasn’t an option. Jaya, Ndar, I, and Low would be left behind— “I can’t leave.” Meeting her father’s speckled green eyes, he nodded. “I am aware of your love for Elliot, Max.” “I’m not—” “Don’t lie to me. It’s unbecoming. I’ve known for some time. However…” Tracy’s demeanor shifted. Going from fury to an upturned nose and a judgmental tone. He released the letter opener and started typing on his computer. “I will never approve of it, never. He is a fine male, but unfit for my daughter.” “That’s not your call. You don’t even know him.” “He’s a convict with three strikes. He served time at Alcatraz before his transition, Max. Under the watchful eye of the US government. Elliot is a gang affiliate on reserve. You’d be insane to think I’d invite him into our family with open arms.” She’d been born in the wrong century. Women were free to choose. Be who they wanted to be. When sexuality evolved into something they needn’t be ashamed of. When they had more to gain in life than a last name. When you existed for yourself. Max watched as women held powerful positions and made men fall to their knees. She watched as one became president of the United States. They still had a long way to go, but women were being freed from societal shackles. They were free to be. Except for Max. If it wasn’t her father’s almost tyrannical hovering, it was someone else’s. She left one prison, barely escaping with her life, only to wind up in another. When the fuck was Max going to be her own person? The answer was never. “Maxine, we both know your choice in partners has led to ruin on several occasions. Do yourself a favor by marrying Raymond. He’s a great male with an education.” “Fine,” Max snapped. What other option did she have? None. It was either this or leave her dad to die. And you know what? She was a punk. ‘Cause no matter what, she loved her father. Not to mention, he’d suffered enough thanks to her. “When is all this supposed to happen?” she asked, unable to look at the man. Her head hung low, and her spine folded. “I’m not sure. It’s up to Matthias. But you could spend this time getting to know each other.” “Alright. Can I go now? I just need a day or two, please.” “Sure, it’s a lot to handle, I know.” She shot to her feet and sprinted out of the stuffy office. Her legs were mailable. Where rigid bone had been, there was putty. Max stepped into her room and collapsed onto a mountain of clothes. She heaved as a cold flush washed over her. Nothing came up, thank god, but her lungs worked overtime. Her chest pumped harder to no avail; no oxygen was to be had. The room spun, twirled, and twisted as the sound of her heart broke through everything else. “Oh, Maxi.” Hearing Jaya’s voice, she looked up as tears erupted from dry wells. “Momm…” she moaned, and reached for her. Maybe she crossed a line, or whatever, but Max was so god damn broken. Needing safety and someone who understood, she wanted Jaya. The woman didn’t waste a second. She joined her on the floor and wrapped Max in a nurturing embrace. In her arms, she wanted to sleep away the bad dream, or nightmare. Max had no will to beat away a rising sadness, and Jaya gave her time. She held Max tight and rocked her as any mother would. The slow, steady motion and warmth helped to calm her down, eventually. “I’m so sorry, Max, I tried talkin—” “It’s not his fault.” Lying on her lap, Max inhaled the familiar scent of fresh air and lemon. For almost a hundred years, Jaya took care of her. Tended to every diaper and bottle. She’d made Max dresses, and learned the proper way to care for 4a hair. She was there for every milestone, scrape, and complaint. Jaya had a say in Max’s life. She had every right to make her voice heard, but Tracy would never… he was stuck in the past, and unable to see this angel for who she was… Max’s mother. “He told me Matthias blackmailed him.” Jaya gasped, causing Max to open sticky, heavy lids. Turning onto her back, she studied the ceiling. “It’s either this, or he’d snitch.” “Oh, my god.” Leaning in, Jaya kissed her forehead. “I don’t even know what to say. You are in this mess because of your dad. To be honest, Maxi, I don’t know how much more I can take.” “Don’t leave him, please. I wanted to be nosey. I wanted to do something dangerous. It’s his fault for allowing me this far, but it’s mine for ever asking.” Her decisions never led to anywhere good. Time and time again. Grown was a relative term. Max was incapable of not fucking up, and despite being upset and crying out, she blamed no one but herself. “I am terrified of being married again. Of being owned and rendered property. I don’t wanna be duped into hell…” “Look at me, Max.” When she refused, Jaya forced their eye contact. “Not every man you meet is Kyle. Don’t make the mistake of putting his face on them.” “I already have.” Jaya shook her head and pulled Max in. Flush against her ample bosom, she cradled her like a child. “Oh, sweetheart…” she sighed. “All I ever want is for you to be happy, Maxi. And I won’t leave this family until you are.” “You are my family, Jaya.” “I am, and I’ll always be here for you, but your father…” “He loves you.” Max croaked the words, and she almost started crying again, but for Jaya. It was tough to witness and took years to understand. Their stolen glances and coy smiles. The way her father cared for Jaya while keeping his distance was tragic. Max felt so bad for her. Being in love with Tracy Bissette had only led to dinner for one. Her father’s heart was encased in glass and steel. “I know,” Jaya murmured. “But I can’t live like this forever. Torturing myself has run its course, love.” Max wiggled free of her warm hold and grabbed Jaya’s hands. “Every kid wants to see their parents together. I always thought it would happen. I’m so sorry.” Jaya was an Afro-Portuguese beauty queen, of some two hundred years old. Tall and thick, she got attention from every guy on the street. Poor thing had soccer mom style and loved her Velcro sandals, but god, she was ethereal. Tracy was a stupid, stupid man. “As my matron of honor, you’re gonna have your hands full.” Jaya giggled with bubbling tears in her eyes. “Really?” “Yeah, you are my Mom after all… if that’s okay with you.” She nodded. “You’ve always been my daughter, honey. Now, we gotta do something about this outfit. That boy wants to say hello.” Max put on a half-cocked smile and shrugged. “Maybe I’ll dye it purple and turquoise. I wanna be hideous as possible,” Jaya laughed, and Max joined her with a hysterical cackle. Life wasn’t great, but lemons and lemonade.
Hi y’all, I hope everyone had a good Monday! Day job is kicking my ass, but I am still here. Still pushing these chapters out for y’all. And what a chapter it is. So, by now, I know you hate Tracy. I get it. He’s not my favorite person either. He’s one of those parents who are hell on earth but will also do the most for their child. Tracy is that parent. Does this excuse his behavior??? Noooo. Poor soul believes he knows best. Sad. Anyway, I felt so bad for Maxi. I wanted to slump Matthias then and there. No lie. I remember cussing his ass out while writing this scene. Whew, chile. Anyway, it’s about 11pm and I ammmmmmm sleepy. I’m gonna turn in now. As always, thank you for reading. You are a good human who makes a difference in my day-to-day. I hope y’all have a good week and see you sooooon. Bye, loves.
Tuesday’s weren’t for the weak. Nieema hated slow days more than off days. After five hundred years of working, moving, and shaking, she didn’t know how to relax. The only down time she had was in Bucks arms or tucked away in their dungeon. If not for him, Nieema wouldn’t have a reason to sit ass. She was a mother, grandmother, and queen of Ravensguard. This kept her from lazing about. June through August was her least busiest time of year. Come November, she’d be knee deep in charity work, quilt making, embroidery commissions, and festive requests that should have been scheduled months prior. December was all about the Solstice and Christmas. When Nieema jumped from town to city, checking on her people. She had civic duties, paperwork, and housing to procure, not to mention the occasional visit from territory leaders. So, Yeahhhh, holding up in the hardware shop made her feel useless, antsy. She coulda’ been doing something productive. Instead, Nieema reclined behind the counter, scrolling on her phone. While searching for yarn, thread, and other shit she didn’t need, her night brightened. Feet kicked up and ankles locked, she smiled. “What can I get you, fine folks, tonight? I got a discount on sandpaper and caulk.” “What I want ain’t on them shelves.” “I know that’s right.” Nieema glanced at the door as he entered, Jasper trailing. And oooowee, was she a sight. Pressed, slick, and classic. There was nothing more attractive than a person who dressed to impress. She smelled better than a fresh hotty toddy. Cinnamon sweet and dark, their scents mingled. Jasper accompanied Buck’s earthy woods and high allspice so well. Their tangled aromas made her more than curious. She enjoyed the sublime fragrance and wanted to speak on it, but decided not to. Buck’s words echoed in her skull as Jasper avoided eye contact. She hung back and perused. Nieema dropped legs and admired her husband. “Where you been?” Nieema asked. “Dorthy wanted an introduction.” “Hm.” Nieema didn’t have nothing nice to say about the woman, so she wouldn’t address it. “Other than that, what you get into?” “Nothin’.” Buck popped his gum and sniffed, sliding behind the counter. He scooted on over to the POS and tapped on the screen. “Buckley, you got ‘bout two-point-three, and I do mean it.” “He done pissed me off!” Buck piped. “Hawke is a red-beaked vulture, tell you what. He prayed on Jasper’s naivety and kindness. I couldn’t have it.” The drawer popped open, and Buck got to counting the till. Wasn’t but fifty-seven dollars in it. They made the most money on weekends. “You spooked that man. His brother texted me about it. Said he rushed home in tears. Thinks we gon’ have him beheaded.” Buck laughed and said, “Lucky I don’t.” “You hush. Wild boy.” “Damn straight.” Buck cast his gaze downward and lingered. “Where’s my love?” Nieema giggled as he descended. His crushing, breathtaking kiss roused her thirst. Nieema had half a mind to drag his fine ass to the back, but figured it rude, given their company. After nipping his lip, she stole a drop or two. He grunted and pecked her forehead. “Why you so quiet, woman?” Nieema asked, looking for Jasper. She’d ventured off, disappearing between shelves and stacks. “It’d be a shame to interrupt.” “Is that right?” “Nimmy,” Buck warned. Jasper sauntered on over, hands in her pockets. Her sashay was nasty, and so was the wolfish grin. Jasper wasn’t so shy or skittish now. Nieema sensed her draw. Succubi fed on desire, lust, and love. They thrived in a passionate environment. “Dining on me and mine, are we?” “Shhhhit,” Buck hissed. Nieema crossed arms atop the counter and matched Jasper’s molten gaze. She was bold and unabashed, towering. Gold winked and gleamed against her gorgeous red complexion. Jasper was a cold piece and had to know it. Bad as a bitch and sneaky. Arrogance wafted as she peered. “I don’t have much of a choice with y’all. You freaked out.” “You ain’t seen shit yet,” Buck said. Nieema snapped her fingers. “You just told me—boy, shut up.” “Well.” He slammed the drawer and sighed. “You know how to work a register, Jasper?” “Of course.” “Good. Get over here and show me then.” She stalled, squinting. “Say please.” Nieema chuckled at her statement. Buck was the wrong one to try. He’d stroke that ego and make you feel so goooood. Finessing an unprepared dame was light work for the king of Nieema’s heart. “Please,” he drawled, eyes glinting beneath the rim of his dusty old hat. Fuck, Nieema wanted to give him neck right now. Drop the knee and choke. Jasper’s confidence swelled. It was all in her face, in her smile and high chin. Nieema clocked her sure stride and square shoulders. Poor soul thought she’d won. “Well, since y’all are gonna do some training. I’m gonna head out. Got some business to handle.” Nieema snatched her bag from under the counter. “Before I go, Jasper, I wanna apologize—“ “Will you be free tonight?” Jasper interrupted. “Uhhhh, yeah. I can be.” “I’ll see you at the ranch. We’ll talk then.” “We sure can. Ten-thirty?” “Done.” “Perfect.” “Indeed.” Nieema checked on her man, mirth shaking him loose. Maybe he was right about patience and whatever the hell. True, Nieema wasn’t the one trying to smash last week. And yes, she’d been telling Buck not to jump the line, and hell yeah, she was fuckin’ hypocritical. Jasper wouldn’t be ignored. Instincts told Nieema not to forsake this woman. She listened to her gut and intuition without fail. They were never wrong. If a vampire had nothing else, they had base instincts. It was a matter of survival. Life or death. “You two behave, and Buck, I need you to get the collards. I’m not gonna ask again.” “I know.” “You say that, but I asked you on Monday to pick them up. Farris just harvested them for us since yours aren’t ready. Don’t embarrass me!” “Go on, now, Nimmy. Take yourself somewhere. We busy!” “You ain’t busy yet, Moss Balls.” “Nimmy, god damn it.” Nieema cackled as Jasper asked about the term of endearment. On the way out, she eyed the duo, and they smiled. It was a delicious vision. Buck in proximity to Jasper. Brushing fabrics with inches between them. The implication made her shudder and exit. She needed the cool rush of a late summer breeze. With fresh air came clarity, reminding her of what she needed to do before heading home. Strolling down Everrose Street, she plucked her phone. With a tap, she dialed Hank. Folks smiled and waved. Nieema returned their friendliness in kind as her knight and right hand answered. “Huh? What?” “I need you to meet me at Lita’s.” “Are you good?” “No.” “On the way.” Hank had been her blade and shield for centuries. They’d traveled the world and fought; bled together. She’d dug trenches and nearly died beside the vampire. Nieema knighted Hank some five hundred years ago. He hadn’t left her since. He was family, but family didn’t always get along. He was mad about that wild bitch who tried to slaughter everyone in the coven. There was only one way to stop her. Axe and salted rainwater. Hank was pissed, no two ways about it. He wasn’t happy with Nieema or Buck at the moment. It wasn’t his fault, though. Love potions were horrid and had lingering effects even after the victim was cured. Hank suffered greatly at the hands of an unwell necromancer. Soon, he’d come out of this fog and see the truth. Until then, Nieema had to deal with his scorn. Mad as a soaked burrowing bear he may be, the man would come when called. He knew to drop the shit and stand on ten toes. When it was time for knightly business, he was there post haste. It came as no surprise when Hank rolled up and jumped from his truck ten minutes later. Serious as ever, no nonsense and alert. He joined Nieema at the table she dined at. Next door to Lita’s was Indigo’s finest vampire dive. It catered to their kind with a menu vampires appreciated. Blood was the main ingredient. Powdered, spiced, cold, hot, mixed, pure, or tap. The meals were fresh and hot, made to order. “What you got there?” Hank pursed his lips and snagged a corn puff. It was similar to a double-fried hushpuppy dripping with grease. Cornmeal, flour, and coagulated blood. Of course, most nutrients were lost after frying, but it tasted damn good. Nieema got three dozen and a medium, sugar blended a-positive. Frothy and refreshing, she sipped as Hank stole a puff. “You can get your own.” He grumped and chewed. Hank had a grandfatherly air about him, though he had no kids and never married. The thought often caused her pain. He’d put his whole life into serving. Nieema wanted more for him, but they’d argued about it enough. “What’s going on, Majesty?” “Don’t do that.” “You queen ain’t you?” “Hank, you can be mad all you want. But that won’t change what happened.” He garbled and stole his second puff. “You talking to me like I don’t already know. What you call me for, huh? What’s going on?” Nieema punched down her drink with the straw, considering her next words carefully. She didn’t know the whole story and had no intention of running her mouth about Jasper. “Juel might have…been paid to keep tabs on our new house guest.” Hank recoiled and blinked. “Cheryl’s boy?” “Mhm.” Hank stroked his beard and nodded, attention fixed on the bustling crowd across the street. Some new space movie was released two days ago, so the cinema was packed. Free ticket Wednesdays and unlimited popcorn kept Spalding’s in business. Its glittering marquee made her nostalgic for times past. Buck had taken her to the movies for the first official date. Back then, films were silent moving pictures. Nieema refused to give her money to them big theater chains. No way, no how. “What you tryna’ do?” Hank asked, mid-sigh. He crossed his arms and glowered. “I don’t know what we can get him on. He wasn’t stalking.” “How you know?” Nieema snipped, crunching on ice. “He been watching her comings and goings. Off in the cut somewhere, eating sour candy. Sounds like stalking to me.” “You gonna detain him?” “No.” “What am I here for?” “This is official royal business, okay? You gotta be with me.” Hank shrugged and snagged another ball. “Alright now! You gon’ lose two fingers fucking around with my food.” For the first time in a while, Hank grinned. “Hurry up and eat so I can get back.” “What you got going on?” Nieema considered the old vampire. “Why are you in such a rush?” He sniffed and scrunched up his face. “My chickens. I gotta keep an eye on ‘em. That furry devil done killed ‘bout three. Nimmy, it’s bad. That man ain’t got no kinda handle on his beast or friend, I don’t know, hell.” Hank was mighty flustered. “Who’s beast?” He flicked a hand and snapped fingers. “Wushisname, uh, Jasper’s brother. Uh, Kit? His cat is wild, feral, and a pain in my Black ass.” Nieema chuckled as Hank prattled on about the chaos Kit’s cat had caused. Apparently, it was possessed. A demonic kitty. How adorable, she thought. “Well,” Nieema started, “I wish you luck, but don’t be acting a damn fool.” “I ain’t.” He lied. “Yeah, right. Don’t badger Kit and leave his cat alone, you hear me?” “Shit,” Hank cussed again, mumbling about his coops and such. “I’ll try, but Nimmy, I can’t lose no more hens.” “I hear you.” Hank shook his head and sighed. “You almost done? God damn!” “Shut your rickety ass up.” “Don’t make me knock this shit over,” Hank warned. “I’ll do it!” Nieema eyed him and pointed two talons at his mug. “I’ll break my foot off in you—“ “I’m ‘bouta go,” Hank snapped. “You playing with my time, woman.” Nieema laughed and finished her drink. Hank helped her polish off the puffs and even tossed her trash. With their snack date done, she headed next door. Lita’s was one of two hair salons in Indigo Plains. And folks loved Lita’s cause; Marshay braided better than Princess, who had a chair at Wax. Nieema preferred Lita’s, mostly cause it wasn’t so prim. Hot irons and food scented the air. It was a welcoming aroma she found comforting. Every last chair was taken. Folks looked mad and defeated. They had appointments, for damn sure, but time was of no value the second you crossed the threshold. “Look who decided to show they face!” Marshay bellowed, eyes on the hot comb she held with care. “You come up in here after taking them braids out for no damn reason.” The owner of Lita’s, named after her late mother, tapped somebody in the temple. “Girl, you got nerve. You bet not fall asleep in my chair!” Marshay lifted her carmine stare and tweaked a brow. “They were fine, Nimmy. Shit. You be wasting my time.” “Look, here, you know I gotta switch shit up. Don’t know why you mad.” “Tuh, do your own hair from now on, then, Queen.” “You so huuuuurrrt,” Nieema grimaced and pointed at Juel. His chair was second to last. He sat in it, eating. “Listen, imma buy you lunch, Shay.” “I want a bottle of Venwae.” Nieema cocked her head as Juel dragged tail. “Venwae! The fuck who you think I am. That’s top-shelf blood, ma’am.” “Nimmy,” Pat called from his spot by the dryers. “You hear about the mall shit?” “Yeah, of course.” “Huh? You heard about the Voaremont inviting the Chieftain over for supper?” “Juel, bring your behind, now!” “I’m coming, I had to put my food up.” “What you mean invited?” Nieema looked to Pat. The man nodded. “Invited how?” “You know how invites work, girl.” “He can’t enter Ravensguard without my say.” “Wellll, you better talk to the Voaremonts’ and the orcs about it.” “I plan to.” Nieema glanced at Hank, who was already tapping on his phone. “Get that motha fucka on the line.” “Already done.” Her knight exited the salon with the phone to his ear. “Juel, baby, let’s take a walk.” “I didn’t know you were with her, I—“ Nieema clasped a hand on the back of his neck and peered into butterscotch brown. Juel was a good boy and probably didn’t mean harm. But, he was still on the wrong side of this here situation, and Nieema wanted to know why. “I didn’t ask you to talk, quite yet, honey.” Nieema started their journey and released her nervous cousin. “Don’t worry, Juel. I ain’t gon’ bite you. But I will need you to talk, and it’d behoove you not to lie. Start from the beginning and tell me how you got
Hello, y’all. I know it’s a few days late. I am sorry for that, but I wanted to give myself some breathing room. I wrote a few more chapters and don’t feel so…behind? I looooveee staying ahead by a couple of chapters, but I paused for two shorts that I had to get out of me! Anyway, we are back on schedule, and here they are. We have a lot to come, and I know y’all are waiting for Buck and Jasper to have their moment. Soon, I promise. There will also be side quests! As y’all know, I’m a panster. And this panster loves external conflict. I’m still gonna keep stuff low-stakes, this won’t be high, world-ending shit. Nahhhh. But there will be a dash, sprinkle, pinch of political intrigue. I can’t stay away from it…apparently. The Voaremonts’ ain’t shit. I’m going to let y’all know that now. And yeah, the surname is…Mhmmmm. Not an accident. And with their mall comes trouble of all sorts. What else? Oh! Jasper’s cursed house is still cursed as hell, and we will get back to that in a bit. Because it’s FUNNN and I like where this is going. Anyhooo, thank you, thank you for being here with me. Your support makes my day. Have a lovely weekend! And remember, drink water, eat that god damn muffin, and sleep more. Byyyyye.
J. T. Frost 