Contents
Copyrights and Trademarks
A Stray in the Night by Lola Rayne
Obsidian Flames by Amy Miles
Suffering by J.M.Gregoire
EternalBeginnings by Brandy Dorsch
The Lurkers by Danielle Bannister
Ghost of a Girl by Beth Dolgner
GSW, or How I Met My Mother by Connie Suttle
More Glitter by Faith McKay
The Smiths by Michael Siemsen
'Til Death Do Us Part by K.L. Brown
What Lurks Within by Bella Roccaforte
Fifteen Minutes Until Midnight by Kyra Dunst
Maltese Cross My Heart by F. F McCulligan
Tempting the Moon by Susan Illene
Thank You and About the Authors
The Stroke of Midnight
A Supernatural New Year's Anthology
Presented by
Pure Textuality
THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT
Pure Textuality
Copyright 2013 by Pure Textuality Public Relations
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All of the short stories contained herein are the property of the author by whom they are written. Any resemblance to persons, places, or events is purely coincidental as these are works of fiction. Any references to historical events are used in a fictional manner and may have been altered to accommodate the storyline.
Pure Textuality, Pure Textuality Public Relations, and the authors of this anthology collectively recognize trademarks used and their respective ownership. We do not claim to hold any rights to any trademarked names contained herein.
The stories contained in this anthology may be made available by their respective authors via other publishing formats (i.e. Amazon, Kobo, Nook, paperback, etc.) as of December 26, 2014. Please contact the author for details on potential release of their short story outside of The Stroke of Midnight: A Supernatural New Year's Anthology.
HAPPY READING!
A Stray in the Night
Lola Rayne
"Führer mute, cry lemur brink?"
Skye sighed. Unintelligible messages being purred into his ear on too hot—and quite frankly a little damp—breath had to be one of his least favorite things about places like these. Nowhere else on the planet could what was probably something along the lines of, "hey buy me a drink" or, "hey can I suck you off" become some cryptic message worthy of soviet spies. But really, what could you expect from an illegal rave in an abandoned warehouse? Especially on New Year's Eve. The music was too loud and the patrons were too numerous and, thanks to the illegal drugs being passed around, much too friendly. Now that the invitation had been offered, it was only a matter of time before arms wrapped themselves around him, becoming all too familiar in their quest for whatever the fuck it was their owners wanted.
The owner of these arms was apparently looking for company. Or, at least, that's what Skye had to assume as the arms instantly worked their way under his shirt, one heading for points north while the other struggled with his belt in an effort to reach destinations south. Skye loved that belt in that moment. It wasn't that he didn't like companionship. He was a red-blooded male after all. It was just that he was working. And despite being a man of few convictions, he never played when he worked.
Not that he played much at all anymore.
Especially with the kind of patron that frequented these types of establishments. Turning—as much to shake off his new friend as anything else—he found that this was not going to be the exception that proved the rule.
She was tall, though that was probably due to the impractically high stiletto heels she was wearing. It wasn't the only thing about her that had an air of fallacy around it, either. From the tips of her ruby red painted toenails, straight up her spray tanned legs—that he could see entirely too much of—over her enhanced cleavage, lips, and cheekbones all the way to her bottle blonde hair, there wasn't a bit of her that was honest.
Any man in the place would feel lucky to have her crawling all over him. Hell, just one month ago he would've felt lucky to have her crawling all over him. But things had changed. He'd changed. Seeing her only made him realize how much. And that really pissed him off.
Not that she'd noticed.
Or if she had, she hadn't cared. She was trying to figure out his belt again when he grabbed her hands and pulled her close, shouting "not interested" as loud as he could to be heard over the bass line.
"What?" Clearly he hadn't been loud enough.
Oh well, since she wasn't going to hear him anyways. "Go fuck yourself." To drive his point home he threw her hands back towards her. As he took a step backward in preparation to turn and walk away, though, his progress was hindered.
Cursing under his breath for letting himself be so distracted in a place like this, he prepared to fight. Meaning use whatever dirty and underhanded tricks he could think of to get the hell out of this situation without actually fighting. He might be tall and his shoulders might be broad, but he was certainly no fighter.
Whoever was behind him though, seemed to be. Nearly as tall as his own six foot tall frame, but with slightly less impressive shoulders, she had the muscles he lacked. And it was a she, because those were not pecs that pressed into his back as strong arms worked their way around him.
As the various facts of the situation began to sink into his brain, Skye swallowed. Then cursed himself again. If only he hadn't been so distracted, he wouldn't be here now. About to be ... whatever he was about to be. Since there was no way he could fight with two women and make it out of this shithole of a warehouse alive. Someone would see and take offense and then it would be all over.
Even if these two had started it.
So now he was going to be ... something'ed ... and because of that he was going to miss his chance to get the evidence he'd come here for. The pictures that would damn the new gang that was violently taking over the criminal underworld here in the city. And if those pictures just happened to secure him a better job and a little notoriety, well that couldn't be helped, now could it? Fame and fortune were just an unfortunate byproduct of being the best damn investigative journalist New York had ever seen.
Yet even the seemingly imminent loss of the aforementioned potential for fame and fortune was coming in a distant second to the unpleasant sensation he had in his gut over missing the opportunity to see her. The only female that ran with the crew, Leesha was not your typical beauty. She was tall enough to be a model, sure, and her raven dark hair was cut into a dainty little bob that always seemed perfectly styled. Aside from those two attributes though, she was lacking that feminine softness that usually attracted him. Instead, she had almost a feral edge. It wasn't just her musculature, which was pronounced without going to extremes, it was the way she carried herself. As if she might kill you at any moment, and for no other reason than because she could.
But the most interesting thing about her was that Skye couldn't figure out if it was in spite of that edge that he found hims
elf fixated on her, or because of it.
Not that it mattered now. All that mattered now was getting out of this situation so he could get himself into the next one. The one that involved finding some niche to hide in so that he could take pictures of the gang as they engaged in whatever nefarious activities they had planned for the night. After all, that was the only reason he'd come to this underground, and highly illegal, rave on New Year's Eve in the first fucking place.
And was subsequently cornered by two women. As long as they weren't after drugs, he should be all set. Drugs he did not have. Money he was willing to part with. And sex, well sex he'd put up with as long as it was quick. Skye looked to the woman in front of him to gauge her intentions, and found himself in for a nasty shock.
The blonde was utterly terrified.
He couldn't really blame her though, as soon as the person behind him snarled out a low "mine" that was somehow clear as a bell amongst all this ruckus, he was damn near wetting himself as well. Especially when his captor's tongue worked its way up his neck to his ear.
Which she bit.
She didn't wait, his captor, for whatever excuse or apology the blonde was going to offer. Instead she opted to take a firm grip on his wrist and pull him from the scene. The crowd, which he had previously found to be too thick to walk through, parted around them and before he knew it he was being dragged upstairs. Not that this allowed him to get a good look at his captor, since he was stumbling and she was wearing a baggy sleeveless sweatshirt with the hood up. Hell, had he not felt the evidence of her gender mere moments before, he wouldn't have known she was a woman at all since she was also wearing a pair of gender neutral work out pants and generic sneakers.
It wasn't until she'd pulled him down some neglected catwalk of questionable structural integrity into the office at the end that he finally found out who she was. And the knowledge floored him. Once the office door was shut, and he was slammed up against it, she removed her hood to expose the raven bob he often pictured looking down on while he took himself in hand.
"Leesha?" He managed to squeak out, before remembering he shouldn't know her name. If she was shocked by the revelation, she didn't show it. In fact, the only emotion he could clearly decipher was the irritation simmering in her ice blue eyes.
Though maybe that was just appeared that way thanks to the shade of blue. Such a light and pure blue, that they almost seemed absent of color.
"You know, the lost puppy dog look might work on other women, but I really don't find it charming." She barked in reply as she took a step closer to him, getting all up in his personal space.
Okay, so actual irritation and not eye color.
"What?" The second he asked he felt his face screw up into a confused expression. He tried to smooth it out, but he wasn't fast enough.
"That look, the one you had out there." If only he had a mirror so he could see this look. And then never make it again. "The one of a lost and lonely little stray puppy dog who'd wandered into a situation out of his control." The implied insult to his ability to take care of himself, ergo his masculinity, ergo the size of his dick, made his back stiffen.
Drawing himself up to his full height he puffed out his chest before informing her that, "It wasn't out of my control."
"So you wanted to be mauled by that other woman, little stray?"
This, he knew from years of experience dealing with the opposite sex, was a trick question. One that, chances were, he would not walk away from unscathed. Still, he wasn't quite ready to admit defeat with the woman he'd been lusting after for so long. "I didn't say that."
"You said it wasn't out of your control." Things were getting worse instead of better.
"Because I was about to tell her off." Actually, he'd already told her off. Not that she'd understood it. Either of the shes, apparently.
"That wasn't what I saw, little stray." Another step forward had her body pressed against his once again. It felt just as threatening as it had before, when the blonde was there to protect him.
Not that she'd done a good job of it ...
He tried to step back, but the door blocked his retreat, causing his flight response to switch over to the most absurd fight reaction of all time. Putting his hands on her shoulders with every intention of pushing her away he shouted, "Stop calling me that. My name is—"
Her hand grabbing the hair at the back of his neck and pulling cut off any words and/or gestures he had planned.
"Your name is whatever I tell you it is," she purred as she once again licked his throat in a slow and leisurely place until she got to his ear. The second time around, though, she didn't bite. "Tsk... you smell like cokewhore. I guess I'll just have to fix that." Her hands went to the hem of his shirt, and without seeming to give up an inch of space, she managed to pull it up and off.
Then she started licking him in earnest.
"What are you doing?" he stuttered out, even though he nearly kicked himself for it afterwards.
"Marking what's mine," she told him, just before she circled one nipple with her tongue. And he lost himself for a moment in the sensation as she blew air across the now wet skin. Still, she'd said something he was pretty sure he should object to.
What was it?
Oh yeah ...
"Who said I'm yours?" And to his credit it almost sounded like he wasn't hard as a freaking rock and practically panting.
"I've seen you watching me." Nails were gently scratching down his sides as she tossed out the statement so casually.
The string of obscenities in his head, while being both long and creative, was not nearly as casual. "You're crazy."
"Quite probably," she confirmed, as her hands reached his belt and—in one deft motion—managed to unbuckle it.
"And you're seeing things."
She chuckled before speaking against his ribs, her tongue darting out here and there as she did. "I question many things in my life but my eyesight is not one of them."
"Maybe you--"
"My eyesight was good enough six weeks ago to spot a stray following my family around. A little puppy with a big camera trying to ... what? Catch all our nefarious deeds on film?"
"You saw?" He inwardly cursed when he realized that he'd just confirmed her statement. Even if this woman was licking him there was no reason for him to lose all rational thought. "You don't know what you saw."
"You were wearing a green and gray striped sweatshirt that clung to every inch of this body of yours. Did you know your body was made for sex?"
"Huh?"
"After about thirty minutes, you got irritated that your hair kept falling into your eyes, so you pulled it back using a black elastic you had around your wrist." She lifted his wrist to her mouth and licked the elastic. "Much like this one. I wonder, is it the same?"
Was it? Skye had no idea. Since his hair reached his shoulders it was perpetually falling into his eyes, which meant he was constantly pulling the dirty blonde mass back and usually wore two or three hair bands around his wrist. It was possible that this was the same as that other one. But who the fuck really cared? She'd just admitted to something far more interesting.
"You were watching me?"
"I can't seem to stop myself from watching you." And with that, masculine pride and his libido took Skye's common sense and professionalism and drowned them in a bathtub. Who the fuck cared if sleeping with the person he was investigating was unprofessional? He'd wanted Leesha for so long. Since the first time he'd seen her, actually. And as much as he'd wanted to, he couldn't even pick up other women to distract himself from his desires.
None of them could compare to her, so in the end he always went home alone.
Now she was here, telling him that she wanted him. Telling him that he drove her as crazy with lust as she drove him. And she was sinking to her knees. Oh dear god, she was sinking to her knees.
As much as he wanted to let her, since that was his all time favorite masturbatory fantasy, he couldn't. The second she licked his dick
he'd shoot all over her face. Grabbing her by the arms he hauled her back to her feet.
"What the ... "
"I uh ... " He uh, had nothing. But it's not like he could admit how close he was. He was a grown ass man. One with a promising future in an impressive field who had a lot to offer a potential partner. Not someone who came the first time a woman brushed up against him.
Not even this woman.
"I must owe you, right? For all that waiting I made you do?" He didn't need her expression turning feral to tell him that was the wrong thing to say.
"That's right." Her evil smile wasn't exactly comforting either. "You do owe me." Using his hair as a handhold, she threw him toward the desk. He probably would've been okay, except that he stumbled over his own feet causing him to slam into the desk.
Hard.
Not a happy stance to be in when, mere seconds later, she pounced on him.
He hadn't even had enough time to brace himself with his hands, not that it would have done him any good as she apparently wanted him horizontal on the desk's surface. It wasn't like he was complaining, he was a big fan of cowgirls. Or reverse cowgirls. Still, he had been hoping to take some kind of active role in the night's activities.
When he propped himself up on his elbows though, he found that any desire to assert himself had drained away. Probably around the time she'd shucked her pants and sneakers. It was definitely gone when she unzipped her dark purple sleeveless hoodie, revealing the fact that it was the only shirt-like thing she'd been wearing.
By the time his brain processed the fact that she was standing there in only a gray cotton bra and matching bikini cut panties with a few necklaces, bracelets, and a pair of plain white ankle socks thrown in for good measure, it pushed out all other knowledge. Especially silly concerns about sexual dominance.
Hell, he'd willing play any role she wanted as long as she didn't put any clothes back on.
The Stroke of Midnight: A Supernatural New Year's Anthology Page 1
