excerpts
The Vampire ShrinkExcerpt #1: Vampires? In Denver? My private practice had its share of UFO abductees, demonic possessions, satanic cult survivors, religious cultists, attached entities – all the newest selections on the menu of emotional and mental pain. Plus, all the "regular" therapy issues. So, when I opened the door separating my reception area from my office that fateful Friday to welcome my new client, I was only momentarily surprised. Waiting for me was a young woman wearing a long, black dress covered by a dark purple velvet cape. Rings adorned all ten fingers, and a long snake bracelet, with sparkling ruby eyes, wound its way up her arm from wrist to elbow. She had waist-length, light brown hair with multi-colored streaks, and she wore white theatrical makeup, dark red lipstick, and remarkably lifelike, high-quality, removable fangs. My mind began to pick out the various category boxes I could put her into. Hmmm, Goth? Vampire wannabe? Acting-out teenager? "Please come in and have a seat.” I gave my warmest therapy smile and waved my hand in the general direction of the couch and chairs in the center of my office. "I'm Dr. Knight. Please call me Kismet." That's quite an outfit. Spectacular, really. This sweet, young thing has a flair for the dramatic. What's that delicious fragrance? Sandalwood? She walked in silently, handed me the packet of paperwork she'd filled out in the waiting room and sat down in the chair farthest from where I stood. Scanning the information, I noticed she'd listed her name as Midnight. "Midnight? That's a lovely name. Is there a last name?" "No. I have no need of anything from my human past," she said, with exaggerated seriousness. Okay. Let's not assume the obvious. I chose a chair across from her and picked up my note pad and pen. "Tell me how I can help you." "I'm only here because my family made me come. They can't accept my choices and they're hoping you'll talk me out of wanting to be a vampire. They want you to fix me.” Her voice separated each angry word like little staccato notes. She gave me the once-over I'd come to recognize from my younger clients: the smirking scan that evaluated my tailored, light blue suit and sensible, black heels and found them hopelessly conventional. Then, inevitably, her eyes moved to my hair, which was very long, curly, and often had a mind of its own. The dissonance between my conservative suit and unintentional rock-star hair disrupted the inner picture she was constructing of me. I always enjoy the flash of confusion that washes over their faces at that point. My inner trickster is never far away. She hiked her dress up until the hem rested on her knees and crossed her legs dramatically. "You're not what I expected." I smiled. "What did you expect?" "Someone old, with her hair in a bun and no makeup. You're not that much older than me. And you're pretty. You remind me of that singer my mother listens to all the time. Sarah Brightman. The one with the long, dark hair and blue eyes." "Thank you. I enjoy her, too. Are you comfortable with someone who isn't old and who doesn't have her hair in a bun?" She frowned. "I guess so." I could see that her need to connect was struggling with her automatic protective defenses, and the jury was out about which one would continue the session. "Well, tell me about your desire to be a vampire. How long have you wanted to be one?" She tilted her head, pursed her lips and sat silently for a few seconds. Quick flashes of emotion danced across her face as fear, disappointment, and resentment gave way to hope. "Ever since I met Devereux – or Dev, as we call him – about a year ago," she said, dreamily. Ah, connection won. Maybe she'll let me in. "Why would meeting Dev make you want to be a vampire?" "Well, duh, because he is one.” She rolled her chocolate-brown eyes, and made that "tsk" sound with her tongue against her teeth. I kept the warm smile on my face, and ignored the teenage angst. "Can you tell me about Dev?" She hesitated, staring down at the floor, using the tip of her tongue to play with the fake fangs. "I don't think I'm supposed to talk about him. He wouldn't want me to. He says it's better if no one believes vampires really exist." Oh, I see. Her sharp little fangs fit perfectly over her own canines, with an almost-invisible band holding them--similar to braces. How clever. "Do you believe that vampires really exist?” I tried not to sound as if there was only one right answer to the question. "Oh, yes. You wouldn't believe what I've seen. Denver has tons of vampires," she enthused. "Really? Midnight, I want you to know that anything we talk about in here is completely confidential. You can feel free to tell me anything you want and it will go no further. I'd really like to hear about all these vampires." Vampires. Well, that certainly is a change of pace from aliens and demon possessions. She raised an eyebrow. "How do I know you won't tell my parents?" "Unless you're going to hurt yourself or someone else, I will never tell anyone anything that we discuss," I explained, giving her my ethically-required disclaimer. She paused a moment, studying me. "Well, I guess it's okay then, since you can’t tell anybody.” She uncrossed her legs and shifted forward in the chair. “So, what do you want to know?” “Why don’t you just start at the beginning?” Excerpt #2: An unexpected visitor . . . Both times I'd seen this man, he'd caused my anxiety levels to blast through the roof. I wanted to scream at him that it was absolutely not acceptable that he'd come unannounced to my office, and that his habit of lurking around me was going to earn him a trip to the police station. He seemed altogether too sure of himself. I wanted him to know that he couldn't just stroll in and expect me to drop everything and attend to him. No matter how gorgeous he was. But I swallowed the irritation, opted for whatever remnants of professional demeanor I could summon, and said instead, "Well, Mr. Devereux, why are you here?" He cocked his head and flashed that god-like smile again. "Just Devereux. As I mentioned a moment ago, I had hoped this would be a good time for our appointment. I trust that Midnight told you that I wished to meet with you?" His voice was unusually pleasant. The timbre of it flowed through me like a favorite song, as if I listened to him with my entire body. He had a lilting European accent. Almost old-fashioned sounding, like he'd stepped out of another century. Strange how a voice could be so enticing. I closed my eyes and sniffed the air. What was that wonderful aroma? It seemed to hover around him like an olfactory aura. Maybe he used a special kind of soap or shampoo. Something spicy and masculine and unusual. He brushed a finger lightly along my arm. "Dr. Knight?" My eyes flew open and I realized I'd been standing there, blatantly reveling in his scent, making sniffing noises. How embarrassing. What the hell is wrong with me? Excerpt #3, some very bad vampires come for therapy . . . He lowered his mouth to within an inch of mine, and I twisted my head to the side, shifting away from his hot, unpleasantly sweet breath. He grabbed my chin between his thumb and first finger, holding tightly enough that I knew there’d be bruises, and forced my face back level with his. "I'm Bryce. I believe you've heard of me." “Stop it! Let go of me. . .” He swallowed my words with his mouth, clamping his lips on mine with enough pressure to cause my teeth to break the skin on the inside of my lip. Then he sucked my lower lip into his mouth, holding it with his teeth until I made an involuntary yelp of pain. Only then did he pull back, giving what could only be called an evil grin, and gazed at me with his dark green eyes, which seemed suddenly magnetic. I tried to look away, but I couldn't. I literally couldn’t. It was as if his eyes were pulling me. I managed to briefly squeeze my eyelids shut, and he dug his fingers into my chin again, jerking my head roughly. He roared, “Open your eyes.” My eyelids flew up and his eyes were directly in front of mine, the green darker than before, almost black. I fell into them and felt the edges of my vision blur – a strange haze settling over everything – as part of my mind drifted off on a cloud. I felt as if my arms and legs were encased in armor – that even thinking about moving would require way too much effort. And, that it really wouldn’t matter, because they were too heavy to lift, anyway. Bryce cocked his head to the side and watched me, smiling. “See? You’re feeling much more relaxed now. Aren’t you sorry you put up such a fuss?” “What do you want?” I mumbled. I made what I thought was another valiant effort to raise myself out of the chair. Since nothing happened, I could only assume the message hadn’t made it from my brain to my body. My muscles were pudding and my mouth was the Sahara. Maybe I’d had a stroke and was spending my last moments on Earth in the company of a psychopath. He laughed. “I enjoy when you struggle. It excites me. I’m not sure you really want to know what I want. Let’s just keep it a surprise, shall we?” Bryce lifted a piece of his long hair and brushed it against my cheek. "You really are quite lovely. All that long, dark hair and sexy eyes. I can see why Devereux is attracted to you. I'm here because I overheard him talking about you to my little servant, Midnight. I think he's quite smitten, if you want my opinion. Nothing would make me happier than to keep Devereux from having something he wants or, even better, to take it away from him after he has it." "No one has me," I asserted, despite the fact that I didn't have any idea what he was talking about and the part of my mind that had floated away was still missing-in-action. False bravado was one of my favorite defenses. All this time the smaller man had been laughing and slapping his leg with one hand. I glanced over at him and he showed me his top row of teeth, exposing a very real-looking set of fangs. He definitely had the best pair of fakes I'd seen so far. I wasn't sure what kind of reaction he thought I'd have to his cosmetic dentistry, but I obviously didn't give him whatever he wanted because he lurched at me and growled, "I could rip your throat out with these." Abnormally fast, Bryce reached over, grabbed the small man by the throat, and threw him onto the floor. He snarled, "Leave her alone, Raleigh. I told you. She's mine." Raleigh glared at Bryce, making noises that sounded more animal than human. He rose off the floor, stumbled to the nearest couch and stretched out, lacing his fingers behind his head. She's mine? What did that mean? Was I his to harm, or...? I wished I could find the "on" switch for my brain. Diary of a Narcissistic BloodsuckerExcerpt #1: Meet Zara the vampire Jesus. I radically overslept. I could've sworn I set my inner alarm clock for a century. Blame it on my over-worked snooze button. I always try not to downshift for longer than 100 years at a time because I might miss something interesting. Or someone interesting. But then, the word "interesting" is relative when you've been alive – excuse me, I mean undead – for thousands of years. Yes, I'm a vampire. And not only am I a vampire, but I'm the oldest, most powerful vampire still exploring Amusement Park Earth today. I've got the nosferatu thing down to a science. And, who would have guessed that my powers would keep on increasing, branching out, and surpassing themselves? Pretty soon, there'll just be no living with me. So to speak. Anyway, I thought it was time I started writing down some of my exploits on paper. Craft my memoirs. Spread the goodies around, as it were. So, I've begun this flow-of-consciousness journal, and am sharing it all with you from my luxury mausoleum beneath the glittering city of Paris, France. A great place to hide. Not that I need to hide, mind you. There are just certain individuals I'd rather avoid, if possible. Devotees can be so draining – and drained. I've already discovered that it is now 2160 and I missed my wake-up call for the year 2100, but it really doesn't matter. I'll share my delectable presence with the population of this time period soon enough. But I want to tell you about my last visit, during the late 20th/early 21st century, and the juicy human I encountered and fell for. Hard. Of course, I'm sure he's still pissed at me. But, believe me, we have plenty of time to work things out. Excerpt 2: When I arose from the dead, I sensed . . . something Anyway, on that fateful day where our story begins, as the last rays of the sun slid behind the mountains, my eyes opened, I sat up, and immediately knew something was different. It was as if there was a blip in the space-time continuum. Or the vibrational soup I'd grown accustomed to swimming in had a new carrot in the pot. Or someone's soul signature was pulling me: As if a special radio station with a signal that only I could hear had gone on the air. And, while we're on the subject, let me clear up another thing right now. Vampires have souls. It is the body that dies. Any respectable metaphysician will tell you that the essence of what we Earth inhabitants are – fundamental and deeper than alive/not alive – is some kind of etheric energy. This energy continues, regardless. It does seem to be the case that each soul – yes, that includes vampires – has its own song and, according to legend and myth, each soul is theoretically matched with another soul whose song is similar. We've all been bashed over the head with the soul mate thing, so I won't bore you with that. Besides, the entire topic really is much more complicated and interesting than we usually hear about. But, back to what I was saying. When I arose, I sensed…something. Excerpt #3: Gorgeous human tempts naughty vampire It was a beautiful spring night and the air was perfumed with a wonderful combination of lilacs and the blooms of Russian olive trees. The full moon was doing that mystical thing where it's shrouded in haze and surrounded with wispy, shimmering rings of colors. The kind of moon that foretells magical and momentous events. Scrumptious Niven led me through a parking area, next to the creek that runs through the center of town, and over to a grassy oasis, replete with benches, pot-smoking lay-abouts, and enthusiastic fornicators. While it isn't usually my style to allow one of my "companions" to call the shots or take command, I found myself amused by Niven's assumption of my acquiescence. In fact, I was getting a going-to-the-prom rush (okay, so I have no idea what that would feel like, really. Play along, won't you?) from the mere touch of his hand holding mine. Anyway, since it felt good, I decided to continue doing it. He navigated us to a relatively human-free area and audaciously backed me up against the trunk of a huge tree, where he proceeded to run his hands up and down my arms. I have to say that I was really enjoying my temporary role as wolf in sheep's clothing. I figured there'd be plenty of time later for this delicious dish to find out what kind of cage he'd rattled. Undead in the City, Erotic Paranormal RomanceMalveaux skulked in the shadows along the abandoned industrial buildings.
A relentless blizzard – an uninvited Canadian visitor – pounded
the urban landscape, causing even those with exceptional vision to
falter in the wall of white. Hard snowflakes, slamming earthward
like mini ice darts, caused him to raise an arm above his eyes as
a shield to forestall the storm’s assault. The frozen projectiles
couldn’t hurt him – almost nothing could – but
the act of protecting one’s eyes was habitual. Instinctual,
perhaps. Even for beings that hadn’t been human for a very
long time. A burst of frigid air hit Tempest as the front door opened. Thinking a few more customers might be braving the sudden ice age to show up for the last set, she was disappointed to see only a solitary man step inside. He shook his hair away from his face, sending a shower of melting snow down the walls, and straightened the collar on his coat. The entryway was directly in front of her at the far end of the club, and luckily, there were a lot of overhead lights, so she got a good look at the new arrival. Even with his long, dark hair snow-covered, wet, and plastered against his shoulders, she felt her breath catch – and not from the cold air. He had to be the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Tall, with light skin and piercing eyes. She appreciated the cut of his leather duster and suspected it was high dollar. What the hell was a fancy number like him doing in a crap hole like this? Maybe he was another one of those mafia jerks. They were always showing up to extort one kind of payment or another. Hidden in the darkness of the stage, she followed him with her eyes as he strode purposefully to the booth tucked back in the far corner. The bartender, along with every other life form in the smoky room, had gone completely still as the newcomer passed. Pausing next to the booth, the man removed his coat, shaking it to dislodge the melting snow and ice. A smile spread across Tempest’s face as she noted the form-fitting leather pants and muscle-hugging, light-colored t-shirt he wore under the expensive coat. It didn’t take much creativity to imagine how it would feel to run her hands over that muscled expanse, but Tempest had creativity and imagination in abundance. So much, that her body stirred in satisfied anticipation of the unexpected possibility that had just magically offered itself for later that night. She would’ve been happy to bounce on Stan again, but as far as men went, new was always better than familiar. She’d learned that the best thing about her looks was being able to use them to pick up any guy she wanted. Pitiful that males were so easily controlled, but it was just as well, since she so enjoyed being in charge. She watched the handsome stranger fold himself into the booth, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chaz, the bartender, spring from behind the bar. The previously laid-back – read stoned – fellow practically fell over his own feet in his frantic attempt to reach the leather man. He hovered near the booth, wringing his hands, nodding energetically at whatever the new customer was saying. Chaz finally pointed toward the pay phone near the shelves of liquor and speed-walked in that direction, leaving the man alone. Tempest realized she’d been holding her breath during Chaz’s strange performance. Of course, she’d only met the bartender that day, so she had no idea what his normal behaviors were. But still, the vibe he gave off around the stud muffin was unusual, almost as if he was afraid or something. She could feel the thrum of his anxiety from her observation post. No surprise, really. Most of the businesses in the inner city were mob controlled. Maybe the eye candy in the booth was high-up on the motherfucker feeding chain. She smirked. A lesser woman might take a pass on rolling around with a member of The Family, but she always enjoyed a challenge. None of the assholes had gotten the upper hand with her yet, and she felt confident she could call the shots with this yummy specimen, too. Vampire of my Dreams, Erotic Paranormal RomanceExcerpt #1: A painful past . . . Alana listened to the staccato click-clack of Vivian’s heels on the sidewalk as her friend hurried up the street toward her house. As the sound diminished, she stood for a moment, relishing the silence, before turning in the other direction. The recent Solstice – the ancient celebration of the longest night – had tiptoed in, turning the wheel of the year without any of its usual blustery fanfare. Shop customers had complained about the lack of snow for the holidays, but Alana hadn’t noticed. Just getting through the last few weeks had taken all her energy. The smell of winter was in the air – the earthy fragrance of decaying leaves and wood smoke from someone’s fireplace. The full moon imbued everything with a surreal shine. The sound of her solitary footsteps echoing down the empty street made Alana feel sad. Vivian was right. There had to be an end to grieving. Didn’t there? Was four years long enough? Was any time ever long enough? It was hard for her to imagine writing another romance story. It used to be so easy, because she knew exactly what it felt like to be that much in love. She smiled as she remembered writing steamy sex scenes, and trying them out on Stephen. He was always an eager participant. But those days were gone. She didn’t know what to do about her loneliness. It was a constant companion. She was almost afraid to write those sex scenes she used to enjoy so much. What would she do with all the desire she aroused in herself? It wasn’t the physical release – she could take care of that. It was the emotional need. She pulled her long, black velvet cloak tighter around herself. It was a cold, clear night. She could see her breath. As she stood there, lost in her painful reverie, she had the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. Chills crawled up and down her arms. Snapping out of her tortured recollections, she lifted her head, searching the area for the presence she sensed. Holding her breath, she steeled herself for yet another terrible thing to happen at this spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flutter of movement. She swiveled toward the disturbance. Nobody was there. She took a few tentative steps, still braced for danger. Half expecting the same murdering drug addicts to jump out and grab her, she readied herself to pull the dagger out of her pocket. Her heart thumped so forcefully in her chest that she swore she could hear it. Sweat broke out on her forehead. There it was again. That ripple of movement at the edge of her vision. And a soft sound, like breathing. Walking suddenly seemed difficult – as if lifting one foot, then the other, was more complicated than she could manage. She felt too tired to take another step. Her head was filled with cotton, her mind fuzzy. Stumbling over to the iron fence, she leaned back, resting her head against the bars. A wave of heat poured through her body and she opened the front of her cloak. It didn’t make any sense to her that she was burning up out in the cold night air. Maybe she was having one of those hot flashes Vivian always talked about. Trick or Treat, Erotic Paranormal RomanceExcerpt #1: An unexpected blind date. . . Sliding through the darkness, Natasha entered the cold, quiet house. She ran her hand along the side of the wall, found the light switch, clicked it, but nothing happened. “Hello? Is anybody here?” she shouted. Her words echoed back to her in the shadowed emptiness. She stood still for a moment, straining to detect any signs of the presence of the man she’d expected to meet there. He’d sent a note with a black rose attached. Her favorite. Being a punctual sort, she was right on time for what he’d said would be a night she’d never forget. Holding her hands out in front of her, she inched forward in the darkness, searching for another room where he might be waiting. She shivered with excitement and fear. The man’s note had been so enticing. Asking her to meet him in an ancient, abandoned house seemed adventurous at first. Now she was anxious. But she had told him she liked surprises. Especially wicked ones. Just as she passed a set of etched-glass windows, the full moon emerged from behind a cloud and illuminated the room. She gasped, pressing a hand to her breast. A man stood before her. And what a man. He was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular chest. The state of his chest was apparent because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His hair was very light and long enough to brush his elbows. He had amazing eyes. They seemed to shift in the ever-changing moonlight that played over his face, flowing from blue to silver and back again. She’d never seen their like before. He smiled, the corners of his lush lips rising. Her heart beat like a ritual drum, the rhythm escalating as her breathing quickened. What an astoundingly desirable man. Almost unnaturally so. Hot juices dampened the silk thong she’d purchased for this special occasion. Her bra-less nipples hardened and pushed through the fabric of her black velvet blouse as her breasts swelled in anticipation. |