Tag: Writing

Neon Red: Chapter 3

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

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

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

Neon Red: Chapter 2

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

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

The Beasts of Saint Nell: An Excerpt

Kenny

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

Frankie

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

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

Coming August 2026

Neon Red: Chapter One

“Okay, but caffeine is a controlled substance at this point, teetering on the edge. Let’s be for real. It should be just as, if not harder to get, ‘cause it’s strong as hell, I ain’t lying now, and you know this chile.”
Max stared at the sketch she’d been working on for two days and hated it. She hated a lot of her work. It was never bright enough, perfect enough, or even slightly artistic. At least, in her humble opinion.
“I love it when you talk like a grandma.”
Max smiled and put pencil to paper once more. It was tough to concentrate on the mermaid slash steampunk piece with Can’t Stop by After 7 blasting.
“That’s ‘cause I am, a grandma, Ndari.”
“No the hell you are not.” She chuckled and said, “You’d have to be a grandmother for that. And you don’t even have kids.”
“Annnnd I never will,” Max sang, meaning every word. Kids were a scary, sticky fingered bunch, plus the idea of growing another body inside of her own was revolting. She shivered, blew a huge Bubblicious sphere, popped it, and examined the girl’s face etched on white parchment.
“She looks like Gary Busey.”
“You always think they look like Gary Busey.”
“’Cause they do, bruh. Like, swear to god. Look!” Spinning the heavy book around on the glass counter, she shoved it at Ndari. The girl stopped with her broom work and glanced at the buxom mermaid.
“Nothing like him.”
“Lyin’ ass,” Max muttered.
Ndari giggled and returned to sweeping the two- hundred-square-foot waiting area. A high-gloss black floor meant everything was visible, and Ndari never missed a speck. Little miss was a bona fide neat freak. She peeped allllll dust, dirt, and debris.
The girl swept about twenty times a night, and the entire shop smelled like Lysol. Which, was actually a good thing considering their specialty.
Snagging her three-hundred-page drawing book, Max got back to business and shaded in her tail. The fins were adorned with bolts and wires. She loved mermaids, sirens, and the ocean. The mermaid thing was borderline obsessive.
“I have no appointments!”
“And here he goes…”
Max slammed her book closed, threw the pencil, and watched as Jordan stomped from the back and fell onto a fancy sectional.
“And whose fault is that?” Ndari barked.
His enormous frame filled a five-seater without issue. The six-foot-eight, two hundred and ninety-pound mountains Doc Martens stretched well past the arm.
“Shut up bitch, I am boooored, okay,” Jordan cried, while Max cocked a brow.
“Seeing as it’s June 3rd,” Max said, “you are ‘bouta be crying in two weeks. ‘Cause our shop will be booked to hell. So look here heffa, don’t come hooping and hollering now. Take this time, ‘cause yo lazy behind will be the first one moaning about how you’re tired and overworked.”
The man bolted upright and gasped, full on drama with a hand on his broad chest. “Why do you have to drag me like that, honey?”
“’Cause I love you,” Max chimed.
Jordan blushed and waved a hand. “And I love you, boss lady.”
“Move!” Ndari yelled, shoving at his foot with the broom.
“You know what? You can stop yelling at me, Cinderella.”
They both giggled while Jordan lifted his feet. Big mister had a voice like Barry White, a beard he kept braided Thor style, and perfectly tailored. Folks often assumed he was in a biker gang or a motorcycle club, whatever they was calling it these days.
“Can we play something newer?” Ndari groaned as she sprayed large, spotless windows with stank glass cleaner. “Like, Nsync.”
“Nsync?!” Max balked, recoiling at the audacity. “You know better Ndari, this ain’t an Nsync safe zone. It’s New Kids on the Block, or Backstreet Boys. Mint Condition and shit. Nsync is not welcome, and that ain’t news. You showing your age, now.”
Ndari cackled as she swiped and polished. “I am only forty-nine.”
“Girl, we got cougars up in here.”
Max ignored Jordan and his eighty-two-year-old ass. Pointing at her best friend, Max snorted. “Honey, forty-nine is edging fifty; you are almost a senior citizen.”
“Shhhh, don’t.” Ndari snickered and threw a paper towel across the room. It landed on the floor, she ran for the thing, and snatched it quick. “If any of you drop even a crumb my floor, you’ll have to see me in a duel.”
Of course, there was a clatter of metal on granite. Jordan emptied his pockets. He threw a handful of change and mints at the girl’s feet. Ndari screamed, jumped on his dumb self, and put him in a choke hold. She’d taken four years of Jujitsu and was not to be trifled with. Jordan, on the other hand, ain’t never been in a fight.
Standing behind the counter, Max booted the POS and clicked until finding their ordering database. She checked what was low and restocked, two of everything.
“Incoming!” Jordan shouted and hopped to it. Ndari went with him and hung from his neck like a pendant. “I’m ready! Move girl. I need to make some money.”
“Yes, you do.” Max peered through tinted double panes as two men approached in a hurry. They looked stacked from afar. “Damn.”
Ndari dropped the broom and ran behind the counter. She tended to her job, as a receptionist. Max slid in and leaned beside the woman who readied her tits and fluffed a cute pixie cut. It shooolll was a setup.
Heavy spice and blood wafted at the exact moment two fine men entered her tattoo shop. Ohhhh, yeah, those two would turn a girl out and into something nasty.
“Hay, you takin’ walk-ins?” The brunette asked, in a Goodfellas accent.
Ndari nodded. “Indeed, you lucked out. We don’t close ‘til four.”
The testosterone-heavy boys admired their high wall covered in art and drawings Max personally sketched. People liked her shit… ‘shit’ being the main word there.
“Cool, ‘cause we stopped on South Beach, at The Tatt-”
Max snapped her fingers, cutting off the insult. “We don’t say that name around here.” She smiled, showed and teeth ‘cause them was vampires staring at her.
“Oh, my fault.” That one was naughty as eyes found both sets of cleavage. Sex sells, okay. They’d booked so many clients after a glimpse of tiddie meat. “Anyway, they were closed, so we asked around. We were told, Ink In Hell was the next best thing.”
“I should turn you away for that, Paulie.” Max tsked playfully as the big ol’ hunk of muscle smirked. Those baby blues sparkled as she swung attention to his buddy. A spicy red he was. Taller too, six-five, maybe six. Wide, thick, and tatttted.
She clocked a couple of clovers weaved into ornate markings on his forearms. He was obviously Irish. As if his brazen, long mane wasn’t enough evidence.
Red nudged Gotti and whispered in his ear. They cracked in heavy masculine laughter. “Alright, alright. I don’t know what I want. Fuck outta he’.”
Jesus, he was a bold cliché.
“So, what do you two have in mind?” Ndari asked, in her ‘tryna fuck’ voice. “We have plenty of options.”
“I don’t know.” The Italian Job shrugged and went on. “I never even had a tattoo before. I’m old school, body is a temple, and all that. You know. I was raised Catholic. My Gma is gonna have a stroke if she finds out.”
Big Red turned and pinned eyes on Max. She wiggled a little. He was fine. Like, handsome in the extreme. A full-grown ass male like that was not going to bark up her tree.
Then he spoke.
“I’m hoping to pop his ink cherry.” Sex, his voice was a lengthy four rounds of deep and sweaty.
Max laughed and slapped the counter. “’Nough said, come here, church boy.” She gestured for their company and snagged another full sketchbook. Good lawd, they smelled nice. Cologne, aftershave, weed, and soap…male vampire. The latter got her carpet wet, honey.
“Okay, so you’re Catholic and Italian.”
“How’d you know, I—”
“Lucky guess, it’s your sense of humor.”
He grinned and tapped his buddy’s chest. “Look at this youngsta here. She got a mouth, don’t she?”
“I am ninety-eight years old, Frankie.”
“Aye, Frankie is my cousin, I’m Ines.”
Her brows popped. “Wow, not what I assumed at all.”
“Yeah,” Ndari hummed, considering Ines. “Thought you more of a… Giraldo, maybe.”
“That’s terrible, I’d slit my own jugular.”
Their quad chuckled as Jordan appeared and cleared his throat. “I’m ready when… ever. Hi…” He waved at Ines and…
“What about you? What’s your handle?” Max asked the handsome fellow. He dragged a low-lidded gaze over and smirked. Like a nasty Sphinx.
“Jaxon.”
“Ohhhh, kaaaayyy.” Jordan chimed in from behind and did everything to shove his big ass between them. Max brushed the wall and giggled. “That’s rustic and rugged.”
“I think it’s classy, my mom has good taste.”
“She does.” Jordan nodded and twiddled his braid.
“Okay, back to you, Ines.” Max pushed at her cock blocker… that was funny. No way in hell. “You’re Italian, catholic, and have a grandmother. So, I’d say, medium-sized, and nothing too flashy.”
“Yeah, yeah, exactly.”
Max chewed quickly and blew a bubble. She flipped plastic pages with vamp speed and stopped on an Italian flag number. The words, ‘Chaoi bella’ in cursive, were etched under it.
“Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! I will protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me, from my friends.”
Max recited the words, and Ines tapped Jaxon again.
“You know Italian?”
“I do.”
“Il tuo un breve asno intelligente.”
“You are right on both accounts, I am short, and I am a smart ass.” Max shrugged and sighed. “Thanks for noticing.”
Another bubble emerged and exploded while he cackled.
“I like it, I wanna get that one. My Gma will approve, and it’s not so big.”
“Perfect,” Ndari said. She started the formalities of payment and such. “Have you fed within eight hours?”
“No.”
“Okay, great.”
“Alllrighty.” Jordan had to say something. “When you are done, Ndari will bring you into my office.”
The male spun on his heels, happy as hell. And so was Max, this guy was their third customer of the night. Summer was a pain in the ass. They had roughly five hours to work with, and humans weren’t allowed…sort of, so they were short on time.
Max watched them exchange money for services, and hot damn. They were a duo made for GQ or Vogue. Ines had a rough quality, handsome and dark, tanned. His other half was pretty, runway-ready, and fuckin’ seductive.
Being escorted, neither took a second look, and yeah… story of her life. Males like that never gave Max the time of day.
Ndari shuffled back in her Crocs and met Max face to face. “I am sweating… everywhere.”
“Shhhhh.” Max grabbed the girl’s hand, her vape, and ran out the door. They giggled into the night and flopped down at one of the small bistro tables. “I cannnot,” She blurted. “Honey, I—two?”
As Max turned on her pen, Ndari squealed. “Two purebloods at once. My god, did you see Ines and those shoulders? I swoon.”
“Okay, but that ginger boy?”
“Makes you think, does everything match the drapes. You should shoot.”
Max chuckled, expelling a light mist of smoke. “I know you fukin’ lyin’. Big boys like him do not fool with women like me, a lowly halfbreed. I know my lane, ‘aight. And I stay in it.”
Her best friend knew nothing about living as a six, seven on a good night. Ndari was fabulous, a classic beauty queen from Indonesia. Lithe and athletic. By no means did Max hate herself, but she preferred to call a spade, a spade.
“Not this again,” Ndari mumbled. “You’re always so humble… and self-deprecating.”
“I am not self-deprecating.” Max paused to suck down cherry-scented smoke and spoke on exhale. “I’m a realist, I ain’t ‘bouta set myself up for humiliation.”
She wasn’t no dummy and wouldn’t play the town fool either.
“Tuhuh, not I. Aye, did you see how high he was?”
“Yeesss.” Ndari slouched in her chair. “Mr. Jaxon was baked. Flying.”
“Must be nice. Weed makes me nervous.” Hitting the pen one mo’ gain, Max nodded. “Give me a bottle of brandy, and I’m straight.”
“Old ass. You sound like my aunt.”
“I am an auntie, hell. Got on cotton briefs to prove it.”
Her girl cut up, and they cackled at the self-burning. But hey, at least she wasn’t delusional about her geriatric status.

Annnd we made it to publishing day! I know it’s late, but I didn’t give a set time for a reason, because I know me. Also, I wanna let y’all know that this almost didn’t happen. I almost made a post stating how I was too sick to edit it. But you know what? I pushed through this flu I got. It’s bad y’all. About six days of hellll on earth, you hear me? Anyway, I said fuck it. No excuses. So I got my lap desk and did what needed to be done. I figured I’d have days to do all this, but I was extremely unwell there for a spell and couldn’t even sit upright. I am now on the mend and felt good enough to get it done FOR Y’ALL. I set a date and I wanted to stick to that. I wanted to prove it to myself that I could do it, no matter what. I’m proud of myself and I’m excited that y’all get meet the Chaotic Trio, as I have called them for a few years. With that said, happy reading, and as always, thank you so very much for stopping by!

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

Jaxon Aubrey

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

Chapter 17: Blushing and Brews

Nieema

Mead, bards, and a lovely maiden by the name of Junis. This moment mimicked theirs. It was strange to witness, and Nieema sat in awe. Four hundred years prior, she’d met a mischievous dark fairy boy in a tavern much like Mio’s. They had talked for hours about nothing, and everything then shared a bed with Junis, of course.
Nieema hadn’t believed in love at first sight. She’d never been one to dream of white dresses and children.
It wasn’t for her…until he laughed at a silly joke. The beautiful dishwasher with his black pine hair and sun-soaked sepia skin warmed her from the inside. But Nieema was off to war. She’d come in, broody and anxious, set to drown her sorrows in honey wine. He, changed her plans with a single quip. Though it’d be some years, centuries before she’d see him again, Nieema knew then she’d marry a humble dishwasher.
Buck had left Jasper stunned as well. His quick tongue and devilish smile had yanked her right on up. Nieema was sure she shared the same slack-jawed expression after Buck had kissed her that first night.
Jasper was cooked, done for, and she didn’t even know it.
“You, punched Trevor Voaremont?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t approve,” Nieema added as the fries arrived. “Thank you, baby. Hol’ on, Irene. Can you get Auntie a glass of ice? You know, the chunky kind.”
“You and that damn I…”
Irene rolled eyes and went to handle another table before fetching that ice. Nieema pinched a fry and dipped it in the cheese, then the ranch.
“Nasty,” Jasper muttered. “Pick one.”
“Before you knock it, why don’t you try it.“
“No thank you,” Jasper snipped. She grabbed a few fries and ate them dry like a god damn heathen. “Salt and pepper is all I need.”
“Classless.”
“Buckley Sunside, I told you—“
“You said not to cause a mess, I didn’t. But I had to do something, Nimmy. Shit. He was two seconds from walking up on y’all.”
Jasper coughed until her face purpled. Nieema shoved a glass of water at the woman.
“Drink it and calm down, dear.”
The succubus did as Nieema asked and ate a couple more fries. The unsavory situation was ‘bout to ruin Nieema’s appetite yet again. She nibbled, and with each deliberate chew, she ruminated. Stewing, really. This motha fucka would catch his death creeping about Indigo Plains like the slithering piece of shit he was.
“So, that’s when you punched him?”
Buck gave a curt nod and sipped his brew.
Nieema thought Jasper might swoon on the spot with how she smiled.
“Wow. He is watching me then.”
“I told you he was. Buuuut, it’s like I said, you’re safe. I won’t let him come near you.”
Jasper sprinkled too much salt on the second batch of fries and cleared her throat. “I wish I wasn’t so scared of this asshole. He’s a feeble human with twenty-twenty-five good years left. Some demons might call me a coward and snatch my rank.”
Nieema recoiled and scoffed. “Rank?”
“As in…” Buck was surprised as Nieema. “You was in the military?”
“No. I escaped before my boots hit the ground. No way in Undervell or any other hell would I be forced to fight in a war that started before I was even born. My father makes certain his children serve the Undervell cause. From birth, we are taught to fight, to defend our house.
“Kit, is an ass kisser. He’s older than me and wouldn’t dare defy Carriont. Me? Shiiiit. I ran. Fuck no. Not me. I’ll make my own way.”
Buck chuckled and dipped his fries in the cheese while Nieema crunched on ice. She worked on two mouthfuls and observed.
“So, you know how to box?” Nieema asked.
“I can do more than that, but I refuse. It means leaning into my father’s teachings. Being who he wanted me to be. I avoid confrontation at all costs. Someone will die fucking with me, and I’d rather not take a life. It’s bad business.”
“Indeed,” Nieema replied.
As an ex-general, she understood. After serving the rebellion for many moons, Nieema never wanted her kids or grandchildren anywhere near the battle line. War was brutal and changed people. The damage was irreparable. Though she’d left the trenches well over fifty years ago, nightmares still slipped through the cracks, threatening to do her in.
Jasper evaded eye contact because she was a proud woman. Nieema respected it and her aversion to pity. Buck’s declaration touched her somewhere beneath skin and bone. As an old vampire, Nieema possessed the innate ability to read people. From the hop of their pulse, to the rapid beating heart, and overworked lungs. Jasper was a well of knowledge as she swallowed and blinked, feigning nonchalance and swagger.
“Not too many have come to my defense without wanting something in return. My older sister and Kit aside, no one has cared enough. This isn’t an opening to talk about feelings and shit, but thank you. I’ve seen the worst of things living in Undervell. I’m not spooked easily, but Trevor and this last year…”
Jasper chuckled and stuffed fries between her curved fangs.
“I don’t find this amusing,” Nieema intoned. “Why make light of it?”
“You had to have live through it to understand.”
Silence stretched until Irene slammed a glass on the table. Nieema beamed up at her niece. “Thank you, baby, can—”
“Auntie, I got ten tables. This is not your house.”
“I am your queen,”
Irene laughed and flapped a hand. “Your food’s coming out soon. I don’t got time.”
“Go’on, baby. But fix your damn face. Always frowning.”
The little girl snickered and winked at Jasper. Nieema snapped fingers and grunted. “Unuh, not over here.”
She departed with a swirl and deliberate step.
“What about your parents?” Buck asked, choosing the wrong subject. Nieema did not want to talk about that shit. “Where are they? You mentioned kingdoms and whatnot. Where’s your mother?”
“He’s very nosy,” Jasper looked to Nieema and cocked a brow.
“This ain’t nothing.”
“My mother? I don’t know where she is. Somewhere in the five kingdoms. I have no idea. She didn’t bond well with my father and wanted nothing to do with me because of it.”
Nieema sucked teeth and glared at her husband. Why did he have to go there? He never knew when to shut right the fuck up. And now, he glowered at a basket of fries. No doubt the parallels in their story made an impact. Nieema unbuttoned her suit jacket and sighed.
Her old man’s craggy wound throbbed within her own chest. She rubbed the ache, and he patted her thigh.
“It’s okay, beloved. I’m good.”
“Bullshit,” Jasper spat. “You fell into an ocean of sorrow just now. Your empathy almost strangled me. What—never mind. It’s not my business.”
Nieema didn’t approve of her attitude. Jasper closed up shop and threw them mental bolts. Her false aloofness and fight would do little in this situation. It was futile. Something in the blood and body.
Simmering in her soul beckoned them. Not just Nieema or Buck, but both. As one. They felt its caress. The familiar magnetism and pull piqued more than curiosity.
This was worth patience.
Nieema would wait for the demon. In the end, Jasper would be a woman possessed, writhing and pleading like the rest.
“So, what? Is this an open marriage or…”
“That’s more like it,” Buck said, smiling like a damn fool. “Yes, open and seeking a third.”
“For what?” Jasper asked, going in for more fries. “Fun, pleasure, a good time, one night?”
Nieema attacked her second glass of ice and let Buck hold the floor because if she spoke.
“Whatever is necessary in the moment. We take all with open arms and legs. We’re happily married and mated, but we ain’t monogamous. Never have been. It was clear from the moment we met.”
“Why aren’t you satisfied with each other?”
“Ha!” Nieema slammed her glass and crunched before speaking. “Listen here, deary. It’s not about satisfaction or happiness, though. It’s about living and leaning into our sexuality. We love and welcome any and all genders. I love exploring new bodies, new blood, and giving pleasure to those seeking it.
“Make no mistake, I love my husband with every fiber of my being, but we have desires as individuals. I love women too damn much, and he is an unapologetic tea bagger. If this man don’t suck dick in the next three months, he’ll get tetchy.”
“Silicone is coo’ and everything, ya know? But I like how my hands look choking a chubby six-incher with ridges. Slap it on my tongue, play with it.” Buck swigged his beer, burped, and said, “Plus, I like to swal—”
“Okay!” Jasper waved hands and snatched her water as their plates arrived. “Thank god. Holy shit.”
“Coming in hot,” Irene said, delivering their meal. “Extra spicy twenty-piece for my best freeen.” She winked at Jasper again.
“Thank you so much, this looks and smells divine.”
The saucy succubus lingered on the last bit and matched Irene’s flirtatious smile.
“Unc, here’s your short ribs. And here, Auntie, I want fifty percent gratuity.”
“You lost ya damn mind, chile.”
“Fifty!”
“Can you get Uncle a little extra cheese? Thank you sweet pea. Imma double that tip.”
Irene rolled her eyes before departing like an angry, bored teenager.
“Awww, Auntie love herrrr.” Nieema nodded and watched her grown niece tend to patrons with glee. “She so sweet. Irene is the youngest. So she spoiled, you know. My brother can’t tell her no. He didn’t even want her to work. Lil. Princess.”
“The way you soften when gushing about your family is adorable.”
Nieema dropped her smile and picked up her fork. “Family means everything to me. Everything I do is for them.”
“I can see that.”
Jasper went for her wings, and Nieema dragged a crusty wedge of sourdough through braised marrow. It was gelatinous, grainy, and fabulous. If not the patties, then marrow was her go-to. When Buck’s short ribs arrived, they cut the long chatter and focused on their meal.
Per usual, Milo put his whole god damn foot up in the bone marrow and seasoned the hell out of his famous fried cabbage. Fat back bacon and hot sauce elevated every bite. Nieema didn’t need solids, starch or carbs, but she wasn’t about to turn them down. Why should she deny herself this moment of bliss? Granted, she couldn’t eat a lot, but she ate enough.
Fat and sugar in the blood gave her ample hips, luscious thighs, and a belly Buck loved more than her tiddies.
“I tell you what,” Buck said, rubbing his bulging stomach. “I can’t touch nothing else. Them tea cakes will have to wait until tomorrow. Sarah dropped them off. Said they were for Friday’s tea party, but I was gonna sample some, naturally.”
“I figured you were joking about that,” Jasper said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Tea parties? What, do you plan them or something?”
“Yes I do, and what of it?” Buck tweaked a brow, and Nieema smirked, loving his prideful side. “Everybody got a hobby, mine is gardening and tea.”
Jasper erupted in tinkling laughter. It was bright and melodic. Nieema enjoyed her elated display far too much.
“You two,” the demoness gestured between them with a fork, “you’re walking contradictions.”
“Says who?”
“You’re a cowboy, Buck. Let’s not forget your loud, sexy car and the way you carry yourself. Whatever masculinity is, you possess it. Since when has tea brewing and tea cakes ever been considered masculine?”
Nieema canted her head and hummed. “You must unlearn whatever teachings go on down in Undervell, dear. Brewing and making tea are not gender-specific, and I find it odd to attach male or female, feminine or masculine to such things. It is rather close-minded and toxic.
“Buck is a person, not male or female, a person who enjoys tea parties. Where we are from, everyone takes tea rather seriously. They consider him a brew master of sorts. Everyone looks forward to his parties. They are invite-only and the reservation list is long. Some folks been waiting years to attend.”
The woman contemplated, eyes fixed upon her cake. She chewed and nodded, drinking her fizzy pop.
“You’re right,” Jasper muttered. “You are absolutely right. Buck, I apologize. We aren’t so tight in the ass about sexuality, obviously, but gender roles aren’t up for debate. You can be whoever you want to be, as long as it is male, female, or interbred. You must fall into one of those categories. Each gender serves a purpose in Undervell. Three boxes, no room for discussion.”
“Shiiiiid, don’t tell the Lurma peoples that. Them folks who live up there on Keyhold? They have ten genders and no roles to be had.”
“I’d like to meet them,” Jasper said, cutting into that monstrous four-layer cake. Nieema had never finished a slice and probably never would. “Can I?”
Nieema grimaced and tipped her glass of ice. “Don’t think so. The only person who speaks to Lurma is Old Man Joyner. He barters with them.”
“Mmm. The hermit?”
“Yup.”
Buck groaned aloud and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through plastic. “Don’t know about yall, but I’m ready to kick back. I got a long day tomorrow at the store. Bright and early. Huh, my treat.”
Jasper hacked into her second piece and eyed the man. “Who said I’d offer to pay anyway?”
“You funny now, Jasper. Keep it up.”
Nieema cackled, slapped her husband’s shoulder, and kissed him flat on the mouth. He was a man of his word, and they had that in common. Much like Nieema, Buck preferred his way or none. They butted heads, but he was easily subdued. The dark fae stood no chance against her wily ass, and Jasper didn’t either. It was only a matter of time before the succubus pleaded for mercy.
Until then, patience was key.

Frosty and Frigid: An Excerpt

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

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

Coming Dec. 2026

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

What to expect:

Christmas magic

Cookie talk

Christmas cheer

Cookie and Peppermint kink

Hot chocolate

A romantic snowy setting in the mountains

Small town magic

Grumpy/Sunshine

Two elves falling in love

Black and Brown MC’s

Chapter 16: Futile Efforts

CW: Anxiety from recalling past trauma.

Jasper

“You got one more chance!” Nieema yelled, standing at her husband’s side. “Better make it count.”
They were smug and beautiful. Two masterpieces. Two gods sent to smite Jasper.
A tiebreaker was needed here. Buck was a man about his business and bowled like a professional. Hell, perhaps he was. Jasper wouldn’t know, because she didn’t know them. They were still strangers. Intense and Irresistible strangers who had crept into her dreams.
Jasper exhaled, pinned her sights on the three holes. She hoped upon some magical star and prayed to the undergods. Jasper didn’t want to give him a chance. It was in her nature to be a tease, to poke and knead weaknesses. Anything that delivered optimal nutrition, she went for it.
And the ounce of lust swirling from Buck at the moment made her dizzy. The Sunsides were powerful on their own. As individuals, their potent desires had become a problem within days. Together? Jasper was full. She was satisfied yet, starved for more.
“Get it over with, dear,” Nieema said, her chin too goddamn high.
“Even if I lose, that doesn’t mean you win, Nieema.”
“Take your turn, Jasper,” the vampire demanded.
“Fine.”
Without delay, Jasper plucked her ball and stepped to the line. Neon lights, music, and the smell of food were strong distractions. She shook nerves, cocked back, and released. The heaviest ball weighed nothing as it rolled.
Jasper held her breath and gripped her chains. The orb inched to the right. She cussed as pins teetered, leaned, and toppled.
“Ghat damn!” Buck shouted. “What a game. You played well, girl! I gotta hand it to you.”
Jasper sighed and threw her head back, peering at the ceiling. “I don’t enjoy fancy food.”
He laughed like a man pleased with himself. “Glad we on the same page about that.”
“I tried to tell you,” Roe cut in. “Don’t bet the Sunsides. You didn’t listen. I can’t save you now, child.”
Jasper adored Monroe. He was a suave two-stepper with impeccable fashion sense. There was a frenetic air about him, but she had come to find that it was a vampire thing. They were dark and daring. She liked it on him and Nieema.
Buck, on the other hand, was different. Nieema’s raven-hued soul was threatening, sensuous, and sultry; her betrothed was terrifying. Even as Jasper studied her rainbow polish, his inky gaze seared her flesh.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Roe snapped up his long woolen coat and headed out, “I have a train to catch.”
“You don’t want to get a bite with us?” Jasper asked.
“I eat solids twice a week and never on Fridays. Have a good evenin’, y’all.”
As Monroe hugged his siblings, Jasper went to retrieve her shoes. She didn’t wait around for the couple to gloat. After a quick trade with a fairy named Kay, she slipped into her sandals and headed for the exit.
“Jasper,” Nieema warned. “What did I say earlier?”
“Riiiight, I must stick with my babysitter at all times.”
“It’s for your protection.”
Jasper might have pouted and stomped her foot if not for Buck’s serious tone. They were kind enough to be the barrier between her and Trevor’s crazy ass. It was an undeserved service, and Jasper felt like an asshole for griping.
“This is going to take some getting used to.”
“Understandable,” Nieema said, waiting for her husband to open the door. He did so with a flourish. “This same treatment grated against my hide at one point. So, just know, how you feel is not lost on me. After you.”
Muggy summer air was better than the Sunsides’ shared eau de and fried food. She inhaled a steady breath and exhaled the ounce of lingering irritation.
“Since I get to choose the spot, I want the nearest bar. It’s been a minute since I had a cold one.”
“Perfect!”
Buck clapped once and scanned the parking lot as they started walking. His mood simmered for a tick, fading from a playful rouge to a concerned gray.
“What’s the matter?” Jasper inquired.
“Hm?”
“You’re miffed about something.”
“Tell you after a beer.”
Nieema slapped Buck’s arm. “What in the devil is goin’ on? I could tell the moment we hit the door. You actin’ like you done somethin’, Buckley.”
“Woman—“
“Oh, I just know you ain’t fixin’ to lie to my face.”
“He is.”
Buck recoiled and canted his head. “Damn, I don’t believe she was talking to you, ma’am.”
“I don’t need permission to speak.”
Nieema whooped and nodded. “You’re damn right you don’t. Now come on, I want some wings. Buck, when we sit down, you got ninety seconds to spill them baked beans or swear on D—“
“Okayyy! Hush now, unhinged dame.”
“I’ll show you unhinged, moss balls.”
“Don’t get me started, you vintage bag uh bones. Moss balls? You like to hold these hairy balls in your sleep. That’s weirdo shit, Nieema!”
Jasper chuckled at their delightful and entertaining bicker fest. Buck was always two steps behind Nieema in terms of wit. But he put up a good fight, and the vampire let him win with a stolen kiss. One Nieema tried to dodge. Their sweet nothing and affection were bubbly, refreshing, and easier to digest. Carnal desire and love were a four-course meal. Jasper always needed a nap afterward.
Leaving vehicles behind, they strolled onward, down a busy street. Most waved in passing or tipped hats. Some stopped to talk and introduce themselves. Everyone greeted Nieema in some fashion, and now, Jasper knew why. She was queen of Ravensguard—royalty: a celebrity.
The thought caused Jasper to have a minor panic attack on their way to the nearest dive bar. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek and stifled a groan. Jasper had just escaped a life of status. Twice! She knew what came with the title of queen, king, or noble. It meant traveling, social and class wars. Eyes on you at all times and expectations.
Those surrounding the king must act in a certain manner. Carry themselves differently, speak differently, and look the part of an ass kisser.
In Jasper’s case, she was expected to become a soldier and a concubine until instructed otherwise. Succubi in Undervell were bargaining chips to be won and used. Though, as Carriont’s daughter, she was to be a sword or an object married off to a wealthy demonic sire. Another unfortunate soul who was told when to eat, sleep, and shit!
“Jasper?” Hearing her name required a response. Buck held the door, waiting. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded and cracked his gum. “One thing to know about me? I don’t like liars.”
Jasper snarled and snapped in passing. “I don’t have to express myself to you or anyone else.”
“You right, but you’re under a lot of stress. And to be frank, I like to see you smiling.”
“Why?”
Buck scoffed and headed for Nieema’s table. The tiny booth was tucked into a shady, dim-lit corner. Jasper grew excited by the idea of sloppy wings, a foamy dark lager, and decent music. According to reviews, Mio’s had better fare than Fat’s Tavern. She’d be the judge after a spicy twenty-piece.
On a busy Friday night, the bar and grill was packed. Sports highlights or whatever made fans holler and hackle. The compact dance floor was crowded, and long bar lined with boisterous, happy drinkers.
Jasper settled across from the deviant couple and snatched a happy hour menu. “Wings and something dark sounds nice. I want the extra spicy. Twenty piece. Annnnnd the Muddy Highlands cake. Make that two slices.”
“You tried Fat’s yet?” Buck asked, throwing an arm over Nieema’s head. The tiny woman relaxed into her man’s safe embrace. “They got better wings.”
“They don’t,” Nieema countered.
“We go through this every time, and I’m telling you—“
“You don’t tell me shit, Buck. Now start talking.”
“When can I order?” Jasper asked. Her hollow gut growled as she rubbed it. “I need food, solid food.”
Nieema grinned and said, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, you’re majesty,” Jasper placed the menu in its spot between them and leveled her gaze on Nieema. “My succubus-related hunger pangs have been sated for now.”
“Shit,” Buck whispered, playing with his wife’s neon braids. “Who said you can taste me for free?”
“Buckley.”
“I’m just fooling, beloved.”
He wasn’t joking, and Jasper wasn’t stupid. Buck wouldn’t take cash as payment.
“You know how succubi work, I’m sure.”
“I do.”
Their gazes clashed as tension shifted and coiled. Jasper wouldn’t allow this man to intimidate her, and oh, how he tried. With eyes smoldering, his smile was unkind. Pine and creamy mint percolated.
Buck’s lust replaced booze and cigar smoke. She nipped at it, clamping her legs shut. The sudden swell and deluge between her thighs was unsettling.
Jasper flinched as glasses were planted on the table with an audible thunk.
“Hey there, new girl.” A busty blonde with gleaming brown skin and silver tattoos winked. “How you liking Indigo?”
“It’s lovely.”
She nodded and blew a fat pink bubble. It popped as she yanked a pad from her apron. With no wings, a telling aura, and red eyes, it was safe to say their waitress was a vampire.
“Names Irene.”
“Ja—“
“Jasper, I heard tons ‘bout you already.” Irene glanced at the Sunsides and scrunched her nose. “We ain’t got no double-dip patties, Auntie.”
“Girl, what? How? It ain’t nothing but blood, cornmeal, flour, and spices, how do y’all not got any?“
“Frankie didn’t order the shipment of cornmeal on time.”
“God damn that boy. I come in here for one thing, an—fine, shit. I’ll take braised marrow and fried cabbage.”
Irene wrote everything down and pointed to Buck with her pen. “Them short ribs gon’ be a minute, Unc. It’s Friday. You know how it is up in here.”
“I do. Bring me two baskets of fries and cheese dip.”
“Gotchu. And for you, Red?”
Jasper smiled at a fine woman in tight shorts and a thin tank top. She was tall and thick as hell. It was a wonder how she got those shorts on.
“I’ll take the inferno wings. Twenty. A side of ranch and the darkest beer you got. Chocolate cake, too. Two slices.”
Irene smirked and scribbled. “You sure about them wings? Frankie don’t play. The heat might make you sick.”
“I’m from Undervell, sweets. I’m good with spicy.”
“I heard that.”
Buck cleared his throat, and Irene giggled on the turn around. “Imma be back.”
Jasper propped elbows up on the table and watched her sway. A distinct tapping, like nails on glass, pulled her away from Irene’s assets.
Buck deadpanned and Nieema grimaced. “That’s our niece.”
“I thought calling an elder aunt and uncle was a term of endearment.”
“It is.”
“Then—“
Nieema squinted. “My brother’s daughter.”
Jasper sniffed as the heat upon her cheeks flared. It was a tad foolish, but old habits never die for a succubus. She was always on the go, on the prowl for potential… or used to be. It’d been close to a year since she even touched another person intimately. Of course, she survived on scraps here and there. Meet-ups with no physical contact.
“Sorry about that,” Jasper said, scanning the rustic establishment. “I can’t help myself sometimes.”
“Anyway,” Nieema piped. “Buck, I believe you have something to say.”
“God—okay, alright. Fine.” The mysterious fae removed the hat and smoothed his hair down. “I spoke to Trevor.”
Jasper winced, hearing his name. She flushed as fear tackled her. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Oh, well, I punched him in his liver. It’s hard to talk with a low-blow like’at.” Buck snagged his beer and peered over the rim. “I can’t help myself sometimes.”
Floored and rendered speechless yet again, Jasper stared at the dark man. Her motor functions sputtered and squealed. She didn’t know what to say to Buck. He’d come to her defense without hesitation. What the fuck was she to do now, with her soaked panties and hammering heart?

And there you have it, another chapter DONE! What do you think is going through Jasper’s mind? She’s never actually had a partner stand up for her like that. Her siblings? Sure. Father? Meh, not when it counted. The thing is, Buck is about his business, as we have seen in the last chapter. He’s got guts and spine. That man ain’t scared of anyone, and now Jasper knows it. The monster under her bed, waiting in her closet, isn’t so big or bad after all, Buck proved it. For Jasper, what he did spoke volumes. She’s befuddled and maybe a little turned on at this point and can’t find her tongue… until the chapter. Once again, I want to thank you all for reading my web novel! You don’t have to, but you do, and every read means the world to me. Have a wonderful day!

Chapter 15: How To Catch That Fade

Buck

CW: Physical violence

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

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