Snippet Saturday: "What did you do to your friends, Marshall?" an excerpt from Halfborn

 

What did you do to your friends, Marshall?

an excerpt from Halfborn

“Hey, Marshall, do you ever miss your old life?” I asked timidly.

A jolt of confusion flowed from him. He quickly reined it in before he answered. “No,” he said, slightly angry. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because . . . I think you should miss it. At least a little.” I sat down across from him. “I mean, there has to be something you're upset about losing.”

“I can't think of anything I wouldn't mind losing if being with you is what I get in return. I was a college student with no major, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Now, I have a brand-new start with no need to know what kind of job I'll need to die at—just trying to scrape by and survive.” He glanced out the window, and some feeling I couldn't figure out revealed itself briefly.

“You didn't have any friends? No one you cared for? No one you miss?” I asked, pushing him to show something—anything—for everything he must have lost.

“Yeah, I had friends; not that it matters. Besides, they're better off I'm gone.” He looked at me, and then down to his hands.

The feeling I couldn't identify slipped to me from him, again. Regret? Then it was gone. I thought back to the night he'd killed his parents—to the car ride home. He'd been so racked with guilt, with remorse, and then it was gone. I wondered then: did Marshall know he was controlling his feelings or was it merely by accident and some sort of survival instinct?

“What did you do to your friends, Marshall?” I asked before I could stop myself.

The regret flowed back, accompanied by anger. I didn't really want him angry with me. I'd seen what he was capable of, but he needed to work at least some of his issues out before he turned me into an uncontrollable monster.

He brought his eyes back up to meet mine. His eyebrows pinched together above the bridge of his nose. “Friend. What did I do to my friend, because I really only had one true one,” he said.

“Well, Marshall?” I urged.

He shook his head, and the corners of his lips turned down. “I slept with his fiancée . . . Is this what you want to hear? That I'm a backstabbing asshole that fucks his only friend's girl.”

Out of everything I could've thought, the words he spoke seemed far from any of it. I didn't know why. I didn't even know Marshall, really. We'd been thrust together by a mystical occurrence. I was shocked by what he'd said, but I also felt betrayed. Though, I had no right to. He hadn't wronged me, and I didn't even know him when he'd done it.

He seemed so . . . loyal. Maybe the betrayal I felt was because I didn't want to believe he could do something like what he said he'd done. Like he had lied to me, but I could tell what he'd said was the truth.

He gave me a minute to process his words. When I hadn't responded, he continued, “That's why I was at that stupid burger place. I was breaking things off with her. Jared, my friend, had found out and was falling apart. He wouldn't speak to me, and I didn't blame him. I hated myself. Maybe I still do.”

“Damn it, Marshall,” I said as his self-loathing and hate washed over me. “I didn't know. Why didn't you say something sooner?”

“Why would I? I'm not going back to that life. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“But what if it does matter, Marshall?” I asked. “What if you holding these feelings back, hiding them inside, is keeping you from being able to control more important things? Even if you don't realize you're putting in an effort to block these things, you are, and I think it's making it harder for you to block other things. Like, I don't know, your bloodlust? At least that's what I'm beginning to believe. You need to deal with this stuff.”

“I have. I put it behind me. It's been forgotten. Well, until you brought it up!” He slammed his fist down on the table.

“You're wrong. Or else you wouldn't be so pissed right now.”

“God damn it, Coral! When I was laying there, thinking I was dying . . . I resigned. I decided I deserved death. That I'd brought it upon myself. I made peace with everything.”

I placed my hands on his and tried to comfort him, but he was so angry. “But you didn't die. Not exactly. You're still here. And then, you did something far worse than having sex with someone you shouldn't have.”

He jerked his hands away and stood up, taking several steps back. “Don't! Don't fucking do this, Coral! I can't. I won't.” The remorse, the sadness, the undeniable despair that rolled between us was short lived and was quickly replaced by a rage that burned so hot it began to draw out both our bloodlust.

Shit, that wasn't what I expected. Sadness, grief, tears. That's what I expected. Not for me to be touched with my own fear that my life could be in danger. I had the thought that I should have ended the conversation, that I should have quit pushing him, but I knew not dealing with these things would only allow everything to stay as it had been. No control over anything, just mindless killing, and that was going to do something to me that scared me more than death. I had to try.

I mentally clawed my way through the rage and past the bloodlust that boiled below the surface, and I found the things Marshall didn't want to feel. I let those feelings flow into me, and I tried to push them back at him. This made his rage grow more, and the bloodlust leaked through further.

“You just keep getting angrier, Marshall, but we are going to talk about this. You are going to confront this!” My voice got louder as I spoke, as the anger seeped past my barriers.

A manic laugh bubbled from his lips, and the wildness, I'd grown familiar with when we fed, filled his eyes. “You think you can make me do something I don't want to do?”

“I don't think you'll do anything to hurt me, Marshall!” My words came out more confident than I felt.

More manic laughter filled the small space. “You don't think so? Keep this stupid shit up and see what happens.”

It's not that I didn't believe him. I did, but the facts weighed too heavy on me not to finish what I'd started. I ripped the band-aid off, and I said what I should have said weeks before, “Marshall, you killed your parents! That has to have some kind of effect on you. Ignoring it isn't going to change what happened.” At some point, I had stood up, and I was staring into Marshall's eyes, issuing a challenge, when my words ended.

A sound, I could only describe as a growl, rattled up from his chest and left through his clenched teeth. I didn't move. I wouldn't back down, but I also didn't dare give him reason to think I was fleeing.

“Marshall, you need to calm down. Get yourself under control!” I shouted at him.

“What? This isn't the reaction you wanted?” he asked, his rage and bloodlust spiked so high that I nearly leapt at him.

I composed myself as much as I could. “You need to grieve your losses. You need—”

My head hit the dining table as my body fell to the floor from Marshall's weight on top of me. I didn't even see him move; he was just there, attacking. Everything was going dark as I felt his teeth rip into my neck.

*Halfborn is available on Amazon. Grab your copy, ebook or paperback, here. Thank you for your support! I love my readers. 💖

Snippet Saturday: An Opportunity at Happiness an excerpt from Impractical Encounter

Photo from Pixabay, Webandi.

Randy sat down on the bed with a loud huff. “So, that offer still stand?” he asked, not entirely confident that it wasn't just a joke on D's part.

“Sure,” D said. “You are talking about where I mentioned you should just bring you guys' stuff to our hotel, right? 'Cause that's the only offer I can think of.”

“Yeah, that's the one.”

“You decide if you want your own room or do you want to crash in one of our suites?” D paused, and Randy watched as a wondering look crossed his face. “Though,” he continued, “I'm not too sure what the arrangement is anymore. I know Jim's staying at his house, but I'm not sure where Roc's at for the night,” D finished as Randy watched him glance around the small room.

“We'll figure it out; I'm sure,” Randy said, standing up, and then he started shoving his stuff in his bag and Billie's in hers.

“Hey, is everything okay?” D asked.

“Yeah, I just don't want anyone getting hurt in this mess. Most of all Billie, but if I'm completely honest with myself, I know it's going to be her making people hurt.”

“Well, Roc said that Billie made it perfectly clear that Von'll be a mere afterthought once you two head back home. So, he's a smart guy, if he wants to dupe himself . . . well, that's on him. Don't get me wrong, I feel for him. It's a harsh situation, but I also understand that it's your sister's life. What she has left is hers to do with, and I don't blame her one bit for trying to make the most of what she's got. You make it seem like she's being selfish but put yourself in her shoes. Say you find out tomorrow that you have a week, a month, or maybe even a year left to live—what would you do with that time? Would you do what makes you happy or would you do everything everyone else wants you to do, even when you don't want to, and be miserable?”

“I get what you're saying. I understand it, to a point. But, she—”

“Chose it?” D said as he sat on the bed next to Randy. “Maybe so, but it was her decision. Again, if it were you on round three with little to no hope, would you choose to be miserable, knowing you had no time left to make up for it later on, just so someone else could be happy? Even though, they'd have more opportunity at happiness than you would?”

“When you put it that way, you kind of make me seem like an ass for wanting her to fight,” Randy said, burying his face in the palms of his hands, frustrated.

“You're not an ass for not wanting to lose your sister. It actually makes you the exact opposite, and it probably takes its toll on Billie because she's not stupid. She can see what the situation's doing to you. I'm sure she does.”

Randy felt the light touch of fingertips against his cheek, and he pulled his face from his hands, amazed that his hands were dry for once. His tears had been all too common that he'd fully expected their appearance. He looked at D. The man's dark chocolate eyes burned with questions and invited Randy in with a warmth he'd never seen. Randy saw a caring and understanding there he never encountered anywhere, not even from those he knew well in his life. Not even from Billie. He wondered how a near stranger could understand more about what he was going through than people he'd known nearly his whole life? It felt improbable; impractical.

Randy reached up, placing his hand over D's where it still lingered over his cheek, and he closed his eyes. “I know that I can't be mad at her for doing what she feels is right.” He dragged in a heavy breath, and when he exhaled, it carried on it the weight he held on his shoulders. “But, I can't help but feel sad . . . no . . . angry for what's happening. It's not even her choices, her decisions, I'm angry with. It's the situation itself. It all just sucks, and I wish . . .” He fell silent, letting the warmth on his cheek from D's hand spread throughout his body.

“What?” D asked, a trace of something in his voice Randy couldn't decipher.

Randy opened his eyes, meeting D's warm, caring eyes, again. He brought the hand that held D's over to his lips, and he brushed those lips over D's knuckles. His other hand reached up to push a clump of hair out of the way that threatened to obstruct their eye contact.

“Right now, I wish I could be more like her. I wish I could just take what I want, consequences be damned, but I can't,” Randy said, pressing his lips against D's knuckles once more before dropping his hand.

“Why not?” D asked.

“Because, what then? A week of passion? A week of getting to know one another, and then I go home and forget about you? I doubt I could do that. I get the feeling you couldn't either.”

“You didn't follow anything I said, did you? The point is, we're all going to die. We don't always know when. In a way, Billie's lucky. She's been given that push that allows her to ignore the what-ifs and just go for it. Maybe there's something we both can learn from that.”

“No. I can't. I don't know. I need to think about this,” Randy said in a rush, breaking eye contact and pushing from the bed to stand.

He felt D grab his hand, and he fell the short distance back to the bed. He looked at D in shock.

“Thinking is the problem, Randy.” D's hands went to the sides of Randy's face.

He had time to pull away. D gave him the option to say no if he really wanted to. Instead, Randy felt himself leaning in toward D. Time nearly stopped as D's lips met his. He'd expected it to be rougher. He'd seen the need, the desire in D's eyes before he'd closed his own, accepting that the kiss was happening, but D's lips were gentle, soft. Randy's mouth fell open, letting D's tongue slip in and caress his. Randy responded in kind. His hands ran up to D's hair and pushed on the back of his head, bringing them somehow closer and deepening the kiss. Randy pulled away breathless; his fingers began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

“Slow down, tiger,” D said, causing Randy’s hands to freeze.

“Wha—what?” Randy said, confused. “Is this some kind of joke? Get me all worked up, and then leave me with blue-balls?”

D leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against Randy's. “No, but I don't have anything with me. Do you have something here?”

“Shit. No, I gave what I had to Billie. Of course, I didn't have any plans to use any myself on the trip.” Randy re-buttoned the two buttons he'd managed to undo.

D laughed a bit under his breath. “Blue-balls? Really?”

“What? It's been a while? Don't judge me?”

“No, no. I'm not.” He paused, and Randy could see him thinking something over. “A while. How long's a while?”

“A while.”

“What a month? Two?” D asked, and Randy shook his head. “Over six?”

Randy looked to the floor.

“You're kidding? With the way you look, you haven't had sex in over six months?”

“It's not like I haven't tried. I even tried online dating. Let's say it didn't end well, and Billie didn't appreciate the scare when the cops insisted I go to the hospital. I'd rather not talk about that, though,” Randy said, running his hand through his hair as he felt the grimace tug at his face.

“Maybe one day you'll feel comfortable sharing that story, but right now, I've got an idea. I don't feel comfortable thinking that I've made any part of you blue.” D slid from the bed to the floor, situating himself on his knees in front of Randy.

“Nah, man, you don't have to do that,” Randy said when he realized what D was suggesting.

D crooked his finger at Randy, telling him silently to come closer. Randy did, and D pulled him into another kiss. When D broke away, his mouth went to Randy's ear. “I don't have to, but I want to,” he said and flicked his tongue against Randy’s earlobe.

Randy let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. He felt when D's hands went to his fly and worked to undo the button there, and the thought of what he was getting himself into flitted through his mind before it was quickly chased away by the feel of D's mouth on him.

Snippet Saturday: Love Made Them an excerpt from Halfborn

Love Made Them

an excerpt from Halfborn

by Soleil Daniels

"So, Wraiths are basically executioners. Is there really much more I need to know about them?" I asked.

"You should learn how to avoid them. And, how you learn that is by learning about them. You're making them out to be all bad because of your experience, but they came about by an act of love."

I tried to put my personal feelings aside. I picked up and drained my glass of its blood. The thick liquid left on the inside walls slowly slid down back to the bottom as I reached for the pitcher, so I could refill the glass. I filled it then turned to Marshall who had an eyebrow cocked at me. I assumed at the fact that I usually only had one glassful.

"Do you need any more?"

He grabbed his glass and held it in my direction, eager. "Yeah."

I filled his glass and set the pitcher back on the table. I'd managed to collect my thoughts and composure by the time I turned back to Innocence.

"So, love; not revenge or hate or a dispute or jealousy or any other possibly negative thing made the first Wraith. I don't understand how love could have caused someone to kill their own kind," I finally said.

"Well, in all honesty, there are all of those things involved, but ultimately, isn't it love that undoes us all."

"Okay, I don't get it. First, you tell me that it happened because of love, but then you say it didn't." I heaved a breath of frustration.

"Maybe if you hear the story you'll understand."

Marshall sat by quietly. I could feel his interest seeping out of every pore of his body.

"What say you, Marshall? Would you like to hear the story?" Innocence asked him.

I looked to him, already knowing his answer, but he still gave me a look as if seeking my approval. I shook my head with a slight chuckle. I completely understood at that moment why Innocence called him Fido.

"Let's hear it," I said, turning back to her.

"Okay," she said, rubbing her hands together. "It all starts with a couple: Dyon and Ixora. Both Inborn. They had been together many years with Ixora giving birth to three children: two boys and a girl. One day Dyon met another woman, Apholenia, a human. He fell for her immediately, leaving Ixora and their children.

"Ixora became enraged. Jealous of Apholenia, she found where the new couple made their rest. Ixora grabbed the woman from the warm arms of her lover. When Apholenia realized what was happening she began to scream, and her screams woke Dyon. The moment Ixora knew Dyon was aware of what was happening, she bit Apholenia. It took two weeks for Apholenia to die from the venom of Ixora's bite.

"Dyon, distraught and unwilling to return to the mother of his children and the murderer of his lover, went to his brother, Xantheus. He told his brother what had happened. How he had wronged Ixora, but that he couldn't have denied what he felt in his heart. He told him that he no longer wanted to go on living. That Apholenia had been the other half of his soul, and he was no longer whole. He wished for death, begged for it. But, Xantheus refused to honor his younger brother's wishes." Innocence stopped for a minute, taking the time to refill her glass and taking a large swig from it.

"Wait, how does this explain how the first Wraith came about if he didn't kill his brother? Or did Dyon kill Ixora?" I asked, even though I'd learned she liked to build up the tension with her stories and stop abruptly before the dramatic ending, leaving one in anticipation.

"For someone that didn't want to learn any more about Wraiths, you sure are impatient to know how and why they came to be." She took another sip from her glass.

"Well, if you wouldn't just stop in the middle of a story maybe I wouldn't get impatient," I said.

Marshall laughed, causing me to look over at him. "I personally enjoy how Innocence tells stories. I like the need to know and it to be drawn out," he said.

"Yep. I knew you enjoyed torture," I retorted.

"It's not torture; it's excitement."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Marshall." I turned back to face Innocence. "So?"

"Jeesh! Okay, okay. Days went by, then weeks, and months. Xantheus could barely stand the pain in his brother's eyes. In his voice. Dyon refused to feed, and he turned into a mere shell of the person he used to. Xantheus battled with himself on which torment he could live with easier, taking the life of his brother or watching the misery of him day in and out. He finally decided that death would be a gift for Dyon and agreed to do his bidding. It was when Xantheus said the words to Dyon and a spark of happiness lit his eyes that Xantheus realized he'd made the right choice, for he'd not seen that much life in his brother for far too long. That was Dyon's gift to him. That split second of happiness.

"With his small stone blade in his left hand and much larger stone blade his right, Xantheus pierced Dyon's heart with the small blade and with more strength than he thought he could muster, took his head off with the larger blade. It was only when he'd made it to the lake—blood and tears covering his face—that he realized he had changed. Leaning over the water to wash his face, he saw his reflection in the shimmering surface, and the golden-yellow pattern of his eyes had changed to the silver-blue that the Wraiths have."

Hearing the details of how Xantheus had killed his brother left a flashback of my mother's death in my mind, which I pushed away with everything I had. I couldn't focus on moving forward if I couldn't get over the past.

"So, what happened to Xantheus?" Marshall asked.

"I'm not really sure. He wasn't really accepted after it was told how his eyes had changed, and he left the community. There aren't any stories of him after that. It took years for the next Wraith to become, and then even longer for Wraiths to be accepted as a Born breed. But, once truly accepted, which was after the Abominates came to be, they became staples in the Born community."

"So, you don't know if he's still around today?" Marshall piped up again.

I was still trying to process the story, and he wanted to know more.

"If he is he'd be at least ten-thousand years old. Even I can't imagine still wanting to live after that long. I suppose it's possible he's still out there, somewhere. I'd never really thought about it," Innocence answered, her voice sounding uninterested.

"Really. You never wanted to know what came of him?" he asked, pushing the subject.

"No, why would I? I have my own life. I don't need to know about someone who's millennia old," she said as if it made perfect sense, and I couldn't help but agree with it.

Marshall seemed defeated. He reached for his glass and finished it off. Innocence did the same. I looked at my own glass still three-quarters of the way full, regretting pouring the second one. Innocence stood and grabbed the two empty glasses and the pitcher that had been emptied without my noticing, placing them back on the tray.

"Okay, I'm going to take these back to the kitchen. I expect to see you two back in the workout room in five minutes. We've got a lot of work to do," she told us before walking to the back door and disappearing into the house.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I reached for the glass in front of me, but Marshall's hand stopped mine.

"If you can't finish it, I don't mind taking care of it for you."

"Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. It's just not the same. I can't stand how it tastes. Thanks."

He finished off the blood in three huge gulps. "I'll take this to the kitchen. You go ahead and get to the room. Maybe you can get a few good hits in before Innocence shows up. Take care of that anger and confusion."

*I snagged this excerpt out of an old draft, so it might not be 100% the same as the published version. Speaking of the published version Halfborn (click to purchase) is free today (June 27, 2020).

Snippet Saturday: The Plan part 1 of To Save Lives

1. The Plan

"We're known as the worst of the worst. The putrid. The ones that should not be. The Abominates. But, what if we could help humans who'd thought they'd lost a loved one? What if we could help them keep the people they care so much for but fear they have lost to sickness and disease? Would they agree, even if it cost more than they could ever imagine?" Calvin mused, more so to himself, but he turned to make sure Daphne was paying attention.

"I'm not sure I'm following, Cal. How exactly do you mean 'help them keep the people they care so much for'?" Daphne shook her head, puzzled.

"We take the humans that are one step over the threshold of death and we transform them. We convince their families, their loved ones, to ask the hospitals to take them home and live their final days, maybe hours, there. We do this under the pretense that we can save them. We promise the families that there's no reason for the person to die."

"Why? What's the point? If it's to feed, I find the hassle seems far too much."

"An army, Daphne. A defense against our enemies. The Inborns. The Wraiths. We'll truly be transforming those who knock at death's door. We'll give those families their wish of more time. Though, I believe it won't be exactly what they'll expect," Calvin explained as if it made all the sense in the world.

"I don't know. There's something about it that doesn't fit. Building an army that way, well, don't you think that someone else would have already done it if it were possible. Besides the transformation being so difficult, to begin with, there has to be a reason why we've never heard of anything similar being done." Daphne walked across the room to Calvin and smoothed the crease that had formed between his eyes with her thumb.

He knocked her hand away. He'd lived nearly seventy-five years more than Daphne as an Abominate. Her blood-need had only been awakened eighteen years before that night. In a way, she was his sister as they had both been turned by the same Abominate, Petra, but Daphne was also his lover. He despised the fact that she would disagree with him. He'd had more experience, and unlike him, she'd never attempted to transition a Newling. He had two attempts under his belt. Both of which were failures, but he'd since then studied the history of the Abominates, the turning process, and he'd also gone to medical school, learning all he could about the human body and how it functioned. He used the knowledge he learned of both human and Abominates to devise a plan to make the transformation process easier and more successful. At least, that was his hope. Yet, Daphne doubted him.

"I see that you're angry with me, Cal, but all I'm saying is, we should at least talk to Petra or another of our kind before moving forward," she said, showing him just how little faith she had in him.

"Petra?" he said, the anger tainting his voice nearly tangible. "Petra! The beast who transitioned us and then left. Sure, I had a decade with her, but you? She dumped you on me when you were barely six months transformed. You were still a Newling. You were still in need of your creator. And, you want her to, what? Help with a plan I've spent twenty years devising. I think not! Besides, she's probably still chasing down that impossible creature. Determined to claim a mere Halfborn is more than what it truly is. She's lived too long, and she lost her mind centuries ago."

"I'm not trying to upset you, Calvin. I'm just not sure about this. Please, we should, at the very least, question another of our kind. What's a little more time—"

"No!" Calvin boomed. "I will do this whether you're by my side or not!" He turned and left the room, slamming the door hard enough that he'd heard the frame crack.

*Want to read the rest of the story? You can grab it in its entirety over on Amazon. Best part To Save Lives is currently free until the 22nd of June! Just follow the highlighted title to be directed to your local Amazon to purchase your free copy. Thanks! 

Snippet Saturday: Your Momma Didn't Raise You Right an excerpt from 'Wraith'

First off: this post is a great example of why you get the content warning when clicking on a link for my blog. This excerpt contains both sexual and violent content while balancing a bit of adult humor. So, continue reading with that in mind. 😉

Your Momma Didn't Raise You Right

an excerpt from 'Wraith'

Turning the corner, I glanced around, disappointed at the lack of people. Maybe it was too early, but usually at the truck stops I was familiar with, the first shift of panhandlers were in place at the break of dawn, swindling truck drivers and travelers before they could get their first cup of coffee and fully wake up.

“Shit!” I swore, and then bit my lip, narrowing my eyes.

“Such language from such a purrty thing. Your momma didn’t raise you right.” The voice came from the parking lot behind me.

“Excuse me?” I spun around and glared at the broad-shouldered, mostly silver-haired man stepping up on the store’s sidewalk.

“Don’t get me wrong, while you ain’t marrying material, a girl with a dirty mouth usually carries that dirty over elsewhere.” He waggled his eyebrow at me. “I’ve got fifty bucks if you show me how dirty you can be.”

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me?” I laughed at him and rolled my eyes. “Ugh!”

“Name’s Rusty.  If you change your mind, I’ll be out in a few. We can put that dirty little mouth of yours to work. Maybe, I could scrape up another twenty-five if it’s more than just your mouth.” He stuck his tongue out and flicked it furiously, lapping at the air in a suggestive way. “Who knows? If you’re a good little, dirty girl, I’ll give you a ride on the Rusty Racer.”

He walked in through the automatic doors as I gagged, forcing down the bile that threatened to come up my throat and out of my mouth. Who the hell names their tongue? I thought with a shudder.

I walked to the opposite side of the building and looked along the empty walkway. Frustrated and irritated, I started back to the car.

Just eat the truck driver. That guy seems like a prick, anyway. I’ll have someone clean it up later. Bastian’s voice glided through my mind.

I recoiled at the thought but decided the options were limited, and the guy pretty much invited it. Fine. I guess you’re right. I’ll be around in a bit. Gotta wait for him to come back out.

You could always take a little longer, have a little fun . . . try out the Rusty Racer. The sound of laughter echoed through my head.

Um, yeah. Nah, I’m good. I shook my head, trying to erase the image that passed through my thoughts.

He’s not too bad looking. Not hot, but I guess you like ‘em to look like they’re barely out of high school. His words struck hard when I realized he was referring to Marshall. Not that Bastian looked any older.

Bite me, I retorted.

Only if you ask nicely, he replied, catching me off guard.

“Still here, I see,” the trucker said behind me.

I tried to compose myself before turning to face him, knowing a blush had crept up my cheeks from Bastian’s last comment. “Yeah, turns out I like to be dirty. You don’t even have to pay me.” I smirked.

His jaw went slack, and he seemed at a loss for words.

“Unless you didn’t mean it. I can go find someone else, but I really wanted to see why you call it Racer.” I pouted my bottom lip out. “Like can you put a vibrator to shame or is it just over quick-like? I suppose if it’s done properly, quick is fine as long as it actually gets the job done.”

He stood there dumbfounded.

I huffed. “I see,” I said, pouting my bottom lip out further, “you’re all bark and no bite.” Turning, I took a step to walk away.

He gripped my wrist, causing me to spin back around and face him again, need burning within his hazy blue eyes. “Where you going?” He pressed my palm to the bulge at the front of his jeans. “You can’t cause this, and then just walk away.”

“Technically, yes, I can, but I won’t. Where are you parked?” I asked, shaking my arm from his grip.

“It’s the red and blue rig over that way.” He jutted his chin toward the left side of the parking lot.

“Well, let’s go get that little guy taken care of.” Taking the lead, I headed for the semi he’d indicated.

He unlocked the door when we reached the truck, and he made sure to ‘help’ me into the cab by grabbing my ass as I climbed in. When I slid the curtain to the side, I was surprised by what was there. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t a full set-up—king size bed, sink, mini fridge, and a T.V.

“Nice,” I said, walking to the bed and sitting down.

“Worth every penny.” He stood hovering just in front of the curtain before he reached back to pull it closed behind him.

I patted the bed beside me. “Well, get over here and show me what I’m working with.”

Uh, Coral, what are you doing? The words drifted through my mind, uncertain.

I chuckled internally. What I do best? Seduce and slaughter. I thought you knew that?

Can you not project? I don’t really want to watch this. Bastian’s words were contradicted by the way they drifted through my mind, more with a tone of interest than disgust.

What? You’re an adult. You can handle a blowjob. It . . . well, it just might be a little bloody. You’re not opposed to blood, are you? I mean, you do drink it, right? I let the words pass through my mind to his as I watched truck-driver Rusty drop his pants.

Um, Coral, that thing’s not a straw? Please, don’t act like it is. That’s just not right. I don’t care how much of a creep he is. Bastian’s words nearly had me sputtering with laughter, but I held it in.

“Aww, he’s so ready, but you’re still all the way over there. What are you waiting for? Kick your pants off your fucking ankles and get over here,” I said, and then licked my palm before inserting two fingers into my mouth and sucking them.

Rusty whimpered, honest to goodness whimpered, and then did what I’d told him. When he was close enough, I wrapped my moistened hand around his hardness, stroking down and then back up the length of him. My thumb glided over his tip, catching the bead of slickness that had left him.

Bastian pleaded in my mind about not wanting to watch, did I not have an ounce of humanity? Blah, blah, blah. I hadn’t actually planned on putting my hand on the thing, let alone my mouth, but Bastian’s freak out was too much fun.

I looked up at the man in front of me, his eyes were intent and focused on my hand as it slowly slid down the length of him and back up again. “Why don’t you lie down? Get comfortable?” I said and moved my hand away from the throbbing lump of flesh.

He sat down beside me and laid back, sliding further up the bed to where only his sock-covered feet hung off the edge.

I could practically hear Bastian’s labored breathing. Seems he didn’t mind so much ‘watching’ the ongoings, but he seemed just as surprised as Rusty did when my pocketknife sliced through his femoral artery.

No, neither one of them noticed as I’d slipped the blade from my pocket or even the small click it made as I opened it. I’d adjusted myself like I was going to take him into my mouth, and then there was blood everywhere as I plunged the blade through the thickness of his thigh. It made a much bigger mess than I’d anticipated before I could seal my lips around the incision.

The shock of it left truck-driver Rusty silent, and he was dead before he realized what had happened. Of that fact, I was nearly positive. Once the blood stopped filling my mouth, I pulled back, noticing the creamy splash of ejaculate across the man’s lower belly and up his shirt. His face locked in an expression between ecstasy and fear.

That was all kinds of wrong. Bastian’s words sounded somehow breathless as they flowed through my mind. You weren’t always this ruthless. It’s . . .

Hot? Sick? I offered.

Unnerving, yet, strangely compelling, he said.

I shook my head. I’m gonna need you to drive back here. I’m a mess. I need to shower when we get to that bitch’s house.

**Note: this excerpt is not a final draft. It is subject to change before the release of the final product.