by Hugh Howey
I looked at the two men thoughtfully. They were clearly Regulators. They would be monitoring any paranormal activity and obviously I was first on their list as a suspect, being the only witch in the small town.
The older man was definitely an Ancient. He looked in his mid-sixties, but my senses put him at about five hundred years older than that. The younger man was not quite human, but he looked somewhere around his late twenties. An odd pairing indeed.
The thing that struck me most though, was the instant attraction I felt to the younger one. He must be using a charm of his own. But was it magical or natural? Did he carry a charm on his person to make women weak at the knees, or was he just … gorgeous?
I pressed my hand to my heart as realization struck. Praise the Goddess! He wasn’t trying to charm me, he was the shadowy figure I’d been seeing in my crystal ball. He was the wolf that was destined to become my lover!
But I couldn’t possibly tell him. He wouldn’t believe me for a start, and secondly they had just told me we had a demon running around town.
I couldn’t help giving him the once-over though. What kind of body did my future lover have? A pretty nice one from what I could tell. That long black coat was a bit cliché, and his thick dark hair and dark eyes were simply trademarks of his kind. But he was wearing some fantastic boots.
I dragged my eyes back up to his unshaven face. Yes, it was definitely him. My crystal ball was murky at best, but I recognized the arrogant set of his chin.
“Stop it,” he said forcefully.
“Stop what?” I cocked my head.
“Whatever magic you’re doing to make me feel like this.”
The older man looked from one to the other of us. “I don’t feel anything,” he said.
“She’s using a charm on me,” my future partner grumbled.
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head, trying to hide my smile. I wasn’t using a charm, it was just destiny weaving its own kind of spell.
“Shall we deal with your demon?” I asked.
They still looked suspicious but both nodded.
“I am Samuel, and this is Simeon,” the older man said.
“I am Evangeline Post,” I offered. I gave my full name as a gesture of goodwill, even though I was sure they knew it. But names have power.
I flipped the café sign to closed and asked them to wait. In my flat upstairs, I gathered my supplies. Salt, string, and holy water.
We walked together to the cemetery. I cast the circle of salt then held out my hands.
“I will call on my ancestors. Samuel, call on your sires please, and Simeon can you call on the combined power of your pack?”
They both looked surprised at my knowledge but nodded and joined hands with me. I began to chant.
In less than a minute the salt began to whirl. A shape appeared within, dark and ugly. It fought the circle.
As if drawn by an unseen force, the door of the church flew open and the new organist appeared.
“Katharine,” I chided. “A demon? Tell me his name or I’ll send you to hell with him.”
“No!” She looked furious. “He’s mine.”
Simeon broke free of our hands, his face shifted into a menacing wolf. “Say his name,” he snarled, “or I’ll tear your throat out!”
“No!” Samuel and I shouted. But the circle was broken. The demon reached out a massive claw and dragged it down Simeon’s back.
I winced, and hurled the holy water. The demon screamed and writhed.
Katharine recoiled and capitulated, “Geojg, his name is Geojg.”
I began my chanting once more, this time using the name of Geojg to bind him. I knotted the string and trapped the demon’s essence in the knot.
The salt dropped to the ground and all was calm once more. Katharine fled.
Samuel and I dragged Simeon back to my flat and laid him out unconscious on my bed. Samuel asked about Katharine and then left to find her. As he went he turned and said, “I’ll leave Simeon with you then. Demon cuts can be very nasty, so I think he should stay here awhile.”
I nodded, a smile playing across my lips as I cut his shirt off and began to administer the ointment.
I wanted him in good shape when he woke up.
Stella Wilkinson
is best known as the author of The Flirting Games series. As well as young adult romance, she has also written several paranormal romances, and her books can be found at all good online retails.
Stella lives in Wales, the land of dragons and of rain, and spends most of her non-writing time cleaning mud off her boots.
Stella Wilkinson’s Website
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Romance — Humor
Kitty Nightmares
Susan C. Daffron
At the sound of a high-pitched shriek, Kat leaped up from the kitchen table and ran toward the master bedroom, followed by her four dogs. She flung open the door. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Her friend Maria was on the bed dancing around on her tiptoes waving her arms and pointing at the floor. “There’s something under the bed!” Her unruly dark brown curls whipped around her face as she shook her head back and forth scanning the scuffed surface of the rustic hardwood flooring for the interloper.
“Are you saying you have a monster under the bed? Seriously? It seems pretty quiet in here.” Kat patted the head of the largest dog, Linus. “Do you see anything, Big Guy?” The dog wagged his tail in a show of solidarity.
Maria stopped her impromptu bed boogie and let her arms fall to her sides. “Don’t mess with me. I know there’s something under there. I heard it. There was a scrabbling noise. I hate scrabbling. Nothing good ever happens from scrabbling.”
Kat bent over and looked under the bed. Below the sagging mattress springs, a pair of feline eyes glowed in the darkness. “I think that’s Dolly Mae. Remember the fluffy brown tabby cat? When I was cleaning, I found evidence that she has spent some time under there before.”
“What do you mean evidence? You’re not talking rodent bodies, are you? Because if I was sleeping above a mouse graveyard, I’m going to be creeped out.” Maria wrapped her arms around her midsection. “What if there had been mouse zombies?”
“I think it’s more like a kitty litterbox than the rodent undead.”
Maria sat down quickly and bounced off the bed to the floor. “Eww, that’s so gross! How do you live here? It’s not sanitary.”
“If it’s any consolation, the bedroom I slept in downstairs was worse. I’m working on it. But I’m starting to like this place. Or maybe I just don’t want to go back to work and my ‘real’ life.”
Maria flipped a curl of hair back behind her ear. “Whatever. I need a shower. Now.”
Kat motioned in the general direction of the bathroom. “You’ll need to use the pair of pliers sitting on the sink to turn on the water.”
“Pliers? You know I’m not a tool person. I don’t like tools. I like men with tools, but I prefer not to handle them myself. The tools I mean.”
“Well, I don’t have any tools. But the pliers belong to a man. Does that count?”
“You mean the guy who rescued the cat that was stuck in the wall? Why are there cats everywhere in this house? They’re under the furniture…in the walls. I’m gonna have kitty nightmares now.”
“The cats are all friendly. Not nightmare-worthy at all. And yes, Joel helped me fix the shower after it committed suicide. I’m not good with plumbing.”
Maria walked toward her suitcase, stopped, and lifted up one of her bare feet behind her. She peered at the blackened sole and looked over at Kat. “I hate to be a whiny houseguest, girlfriend, but you’ve got a long way to go with this cleaning program. Waitaminute…who is Joel? I thought the guy with the saw was named Bud.”
“No, Bud removed the dead, um, varmint that was causing the smell in the house.” Kat leaned on the doorway and stroked Linus’ large head thoughtfully. “The cat got stuck later because B
ud left a big hole in the wall. I guess the cat fell into it. So I tried calling Bud, but he’s out hunting somewhere and I couldn’t reach him. Joel is the dog-sitter’s brother.”
“So is he creepy and toothless like all the other men we saw at the dive bar last night? Because they don’t make the men pretty here in Alpine Grove. It’s a wasteland. And not just a teenage wasteland either.” Inspired by the Who’s song lyrics, Maria started humming quietly. “A teenage wasteland would be better, since at least young men can be nice to look at with all their fine, rippling muscles. But here, I’m talkin’ a dirty old man wasteland. And that’s just nasty.”
“No, Joel is, um, actually rather nice looking. The first time I met him, I didn’t think so. But upon reflection, I’ve changed my opinion.”
Maria wagged her index finger at Kat. “I know that look. You think he’s cute. And now you’re on a first name basis with this individual? What does he look like?”
“Well, he’s tall and has green eyes. His hair is kind of dark blond I guess.” Kat grinned. “But he’s got great shoulders.”
Maria raised an eyebrow, a technique she referred to as her Spock eyebrow move. “Okay, I’m starting to see why you’re liking it out here in the sticks. It’s this guy, isn’t it?”
Kat blushed. “Maybe a little. But I hardly know him. I do know I’m starting to feel sad about leaving the dogs soon. I like them. Even Tessa, the unruly spaz dog. And the cats too.”
Maria shook her head. “Don’t get me started on the cats again. I think I would prefer to sleep alone tonight. And maybe you could hose down that area under the bed.”
“Look at the bright side, at least we haven’t seen a mouse.”
“You said there weren’t mice!”
“I said no undead rodents. I didn’t say anything about live ones. Given what I’ve found in the kitchen cabinets, I’m pretty sure there is at least one mouse that is very much alive and eating well.”
Maria shook her head. “I’m not gonna get any sleep tonight. Forget the shower. We need to go to the grocery store now and get an industrial sized box of wine. And mouse traps. Or rat traps. Something that traps. But mostly the wine. Because I need my beauty sleep.”
Kat smiled. “Yes, I’m sure the wine is purely a sleep aid.”
Susan C. Daffron
is the author of the Alpine Grove Romantic Comedies, a series of novels that feature the residents of a small rural community and their many quirky pets. (This flash fiction piece includes characters from the books.) Susan also is the author of 12 nonfiction books, including several about pets and animal rescue. She lives in a small town in northern Idaho and shares her life with her husband, two dogs and a cat — the last three, all "rescues." You can read more about her at her website.
Susan C. Daffron’s Website
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Paranormal — Romance — Erotica
The Vampire’s Prey
Anya Kelly
Sylvia sniffed the air and glanced around the slow afternoon crowd. Each face she memorized quickly and stored away for future reference. Her natural abilities along with her perfect memory had kept her free for now.
Luckily, nothing in her sight seemed dangerous, and she would be long gone before it got busy. The café would pick up as soon as it got dark and the real citizens of the town ventured out. She would be safe in bed by then, at least she hoped.
Goosebumps rolled over her arms and she turned around. Nothing out of the ordinary, but maybe it was time to move on from this city. If her eyes or nose didn’t pick it up, she was sure as hell going to trust her instincts.
“I’m out Chuck,” she yelled back to the cook.
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” a voice called back. Probably not, she thought.
As she walked the streets the fear curled inside, a fear that caused her to move slowly. She had been so careful this time, there was no way he could have found her, even with all his money. She was getting tired though, tired of running, tired of having to be the strong one.
Locking her apartment door quickly she noticed that the sun was just starting to set. Her fears had caused her to cut it way too close. Stepping into the shower she let the day’s troubles wash away. When the water finally went cold she turned it off and reached for the towel. A scent hit her so powerfully that she nearly slumped over.
Slowly stepping out of the shower she walked to the hallway. The more she moved the stronger the musky scent became, and she could feel her body responding. Damn it, this couldn’t be happening.
She glanced at her bedroom where the scent originated and then to her left at the front door. Knowing there was no escape she squared her shoulders and opened her bedroom door. She gasped at the unexpected view. Lying on her bed was Roman in all his naked glory.
“Silly Sylvie, did you really think you could run from this?” he said in a way that sent shivers down all the way to her core.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered.
“How about my Sylvie then, because you know you’re mine,” he said roughly, standing up and moving closer to her. “From the moment you sashayed into that bar you were mine.” She shook her head as if to deny, but she knew it was true.
“Obviously you think the same,” he continued, “or you still wouldn’t be in a city run by us… us Night Demons.”
She cringed at the words, something she had thrown at him before she ran. “We can’t be together Roman, you know we can’t. They’ll just pull us apart again.”
Reaching behind her, he tugged her towel off with one hand and slammed her door with the other. The action brought his arousal against her and she couldn’t stop the moan that slipped through her lips. “They won’t, I’m in power now,” he said roughly into her ear.
Sylvia was surprised by his response. How had Roman gained power, was he now King of the Vampires? Shaking her head she pushed the question aside, because it didn’t matter. Her Lycan family would retaliate and cause a war that would cost too many lives. He stepped closer until their bodies were pressed tightly against each other.
Piercing eyes surveyed her face as his fingers lightly touched her cheek. Unable to hold back longer, her hands grabbed his neck and pulled his mouth down. Their lips crashed into each other with a hunger made stronger by separation. Grinding her hips against his, she felt herself being lifted up. Roman threw her on the bed and settled himself between her legs.
“Oh god, please,” she begged arching her hips. Months withholding this side of her had caused a hunger deep inside.
Hands moved up her legs slowly. “I’ve missed your curves,” he said with a heated tone. His eyes swept her body and seemed to linger on her neck in a way that heated, but also scared her.
“No biting,” she said, signaling her unwillingness still for that final step.
His jaw clenched, but he nodded. His head came down and he said, “I need you now, tesoro mio.” My treasure, she couldn’t believe he still thought that.
Fingers pushed between her folds and thrust into her. “You’re wet and ready for me, aren’t you?” he asked as his hand tormented her just the way she liked it.
She could barely nod. “This time I need you fast,” he said withdrawing his finger and positioning his cock at her entrance.
“Yes,” she pleaded as she felt the heat against her wet pussy. Her fingers dug into his back as he drove in hard.
They groaned together as her walls tightened around his massive shaft. It was always like this when they were together, as if their bodies weren’t whole until this connection was made. He came out and she wanted him to thrust back in just as hard, but he had his own tempo, a tempo that drove her mad.
Heat swirled inside her as he drove in and out. His hand moved down until he was stroking her aroused clit.
Shaking, she was so close. Her eyes met his and he commanded, “Come for me.” That was all it took for her to explode. She cried out as wave after wave hit her. She heard his own
groan as he collapsed on top of her.
Gently kissing her lips he whispered, “You’re mine, you’ll always be mine.”
Glancing over his shoulder she looked at the moon that called to her through the window. Seeing the direction of her eyes, he reached over and closed the drapes. Tomorrow she’ll think about her problems, but tonight she would be in her mate’s arms.
Anya Kelly
adores reading erotic romance, and started penning her own stories as a way to add more "ooh la la" into her day. She loves writing a big alpha man who worships his mate. The hotter, the better as long as it has a Happily Ever After ending. Catch up with Anya at her website.
Anya Kelly’s Website
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Science Fiction
Beer, Bugs, and the End of the World
Rachel Aukes
Some days you’re the windshield, some days you’re the bug. Easy guess which kind of day it was for Jack.
He sighed, opened the car door, and lumbered to the blue and chrome bicycle lying in the middle of his driveway—again—while the culprit was obliviously preoccupied chasing some flying insect. Jack carried the bike, colorful streamers dangling from the handlebars, over to the grass and dropped it. The bike landed with a pleasant thump, with an echoing holler from the kid.
Ignoring foul words no kid that age should know, he climbed back into his car, pushed the button on the visor, and waited as the garage door opened. He’d already hit the button again, bringing a blissful end to the racket outside, before he shifted the car into park.
From the passenger seat, he picked up the cardboard box containing everything from his desk and promptly dumped the box and its contents in the garbage can. Funny, how ten years of long hours and hard work could be nullified with one innocuous-looking severance letter. Before she’d left him, Margaret had always told him he was bad luck. He could almost hear her I-told-you-so’s now.
