The Horror of our Love: A Twisted Tales Anthology

by Nikita Slater

  The Horror of Our Love

  A Twisted Tales Anthology

  B. Bennett

  N. Heinz

  DD Prince

  Jasmin Quinn

  Nikita Slater

  Acknowledgments

  Cover Art by Nisus L’art.

  We are inspired by your beautiful work.

  https://www.facebook.com/Nisusart/

  Contents

  First Blood Moon

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Also by Jasmin Quinn

  Masked

  Playlist

  Acknowledments

  Untitled

  1. Great Basin College, Nevada

  2. October, 17th

  3. The Same Day

  4. One moment later

  5. The Next Day, October 18th

  6. Seconds Later…

  7. Later that night…

  8. Where am I?

  9. October 19th, Midnight

  10. October 31st

  11. Trick or Treat Part I

  12. Trick or Treat part II

  Untitled

  Epilogue

  Other Books By N. Heinz

  Hollow

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  DD’s Hollow Playlist

  Other Books by DD Prince

  Stalked

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Also by Nikita Slater

  The Tombstone Tourist

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  15. Three Years Later

  About the Author

  Other Books by Bonny Capps/B. Bennett:

  First Blood Moon © 2018 by Jasmin Quinn. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Jem Monday Publishing Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Jasmin Quinn

  Visit my website at www.jasminquinn.com

  First Printing: Sept. 2018 Jem Monday Publishing Inc.

  Chapter 1

  Grace was running for her life, October’s approaching Hunter’s Blood Moon spotlighting a trail across the snow-touched forest floor. The trees and brambles, insensitive to her flight, tore at her, tripped her, toyed with her. In her terror, she stumbled and slammed hard into the earth with her shoulder and hip, but she scrambled to her feet and ran forward in blind terror. There was no time to check for bruises or cuts or broken bones. No time to think, no breath to scream.

  She could hear them crashing through the trees in pursuit, their wicked laughter and lustful voices flitting toward her like a lash, offering pain, promising death. She had nowhere to go, no way to escape. She was in Northern BC, running through the Boreal Forest. Her strides were not quiet footfalls, they were loud, resonating in the night, leading them to her. The faster she ran, the better they could follow, the bigger the risk of her falling and seriously injuring herself, diminishing any chance to fight back. As if she could anyway.

  She was weeping now, sobs catching in her throat, then falling like leeches from her mouth, sucking the breath from her, forcing her to slow. This was not how she thought her night would end. Her panicked mind flitted to her boss, the man she loved, Dr. Eric McConnel, or what was left of him after they beat him to death. She felt bile rise to her throat as her memories riveted on the crunching of bone as they stomped him, the blood that poured from his face, his back bent unnaturally so he could no longer defend himself. And her helpless, flailing against enormous arms attached to a drunk, manic biker, screaming and sobbing, begging them to stop; promising them she would do whatever they wanted if they spared Eric’s life. But it was too late – they kept kicking him even after he was nothing but a stump of bloody sinew and shattered bones. Then the one holding her, his evil filtering through in his stench, ripped her shirt from her back as he threw her to the ground. He stood over her, removing his belt, tapping the leather against the palm of his hand before he lashed it across her stomach.

  The pain hit her brain like a shot of caffeine, momentarily jarring her out of her grief and forcing adrenaline through her body. She rolled onto her belly away from him, then bounded to her feet. She didn’t stop to take note of her surroundings as she crashed into the safety screen of the forest and fled. The suddenness of her escape afforded her a head start while the three killers sorted out what had happened. But now, 10 minutes later, she was still running, uphill, the snow under her feet causing her to slip, the roots from the trees fucking with her balance, the goddamned brambles tearing at her flesh. Her tears blinding her, her sobs choking her. There was nothing to do but stop. Then they would be on her. They’d rape and kill her or keep her until she died. She felt another sob rip from her lips as a fresh round of tears burst from her.

  She stumbled into a small clearing, bending over at the waist, hands on her knees, trying to quiet her weeping, trying to suck air into her battered lungs. Time to face the nightmare. They were still running, drug-induced stamina overriding any sense they had. Maybe they were so caught up in the chase that they’d forgot what they were chasing. Just as she thought they might run right by her, one of them crashed out of the trees like a strawman on fire. He let out a loud howl as he saw her, then ruthlessly tackled her to the ground before she could run again.

  “You stupid bitch,” he bellowed as he sat on her, straddling her hips with his knees, his groin pressed against her pelvis. He pulled her hair with one hand as he viciously slapped her face. Her head snapped back and her teeth sliced the inside of her cheek. Blood seeped from a split lip. Then another voice, one of reason, said, “Whoa Brit, don’t ruin her until we’ve had a go at her.”

  Brit swivelled his head toward the speaker, his mouth a ragged gash across his face. “Who the fuck are you to talk to me that way, Critter?” He stood up, tall enough to tower over the smaller man, the snarl on his face grotesque.

  “Fuck you too, Brit,” Critter said
. “I killed the fucking boyfriend! I get her first!”

  The third biker, the one who’d been holding her at the camp, the one who laid his belt to her stomach, stumbled up to the pair. “What I’d miss?”

  “Critter seems to think he gets her first.” Brit stared down at the smaller man, who didn’t appear the least bit intimidated.

  Grace sat up carefully onto her elbows. She had her breath back, could run again, but she caught the attention of Critter, who moved over her. “How about we do this.” He was talking to his mates but looking at Grace. He fell to his knees as his hands moved to her running shoes and he tugged them off her feet. “How about we all fuck her first. You know – I’ll take the pussy, you take the ass and Louie can fuck her mouth. Grace started to shake and blood roared in her ears as he talked, his eyes on her as he reached to undo her jeans. She twisted away from him, rolling onto her belly and trying to snake away with her arms. Screaming, the only sound she heard now. Her screams. Critter caught her before she could get to her elbows, pulling her to him, dry humping from behind as he unsnapped her bra and then reached around her waist and unbuttoned her jeans. They were all there now, on their knees, like jackals, a hand on her breast, twisting her nipple, another shoved inside her panties, clawing at her pussy and Critter, pulling off her jeans, ripping her panties.

  Naked, she was naked now.

  One of them leaned down into her face, maybe Brit. “Stop screaming or I’ll fill your mouth with dirt.”

  “Not dirt.” It was Critter. “With cock.”

  “She’ll fucking bite me if I do that.” Yes Brit. Then she felt the belt across her ass, brutally hard. Then another across her back.

  “You stop screaming, I’ll stop hitting you.” That was Louie. The fucker with the belt.

  Pain shredded through Grace as the lashes rained down on her, but she managed to clamp her lips together, forcing her screams down, dying to whimpers. Then her shaking, her stomach churning and the rise of her bile, spewing out, and onto Brit, who had been kneeling in front of her, pants around his ass, cock in one hand, her hair in the other. “Fuck,” he shouted as he threw himself backwards away from her. His friends laughed wildly.

  Critter grabbed her hair, pulling her up, forcing her to kneel in from of him. “You’re not making this easy on yourself, you stupid cunt.” He eyed her as he pulled a joint from a thin case he had in his back pocket, lit it and inhaled deeply. He handed it over to Louis who was standing next to him.

  “Come on Brit, you can have her first.”

  Brit took a step towards Grace, but then froze in his tracks, staring beyond her, beyond his mates to the dark shadows in the trees. His hands grabbed at his head as he took a step back, his mouth slackened. “Fuck, run!” he shrieked but as he turned, something big and fast grabbed him from behind, it’s claw tearing through Brit’s back, and pulling his heart from his chest. They all scrambled back. The smell of iron invaded Grace’s nostrils, but didn’t completely block out the smell of fur, of wolf. She screamed again, the back of her mind registering the irony. A wolf, the largest she ever laid eyes on, had just ripped the beating heart from a man, from the back. She tried to get to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t hold her and she dropped to her knees on the dirt. She heard screaming, hysterical, shrill, unearthly. She covered her ears with her hands trying to block the horrifying sounds, then realized they were coming from her.

  Blood arced in the air, a trail that splattered across her torso, her face. Then a ball came towards her, rolling with an odd cadence, before bouncing off her knee and coming to rest inches from her. She gaped at it, into the dead staring eyes of Critter. She thought she’d vomited everything earlier, but it didn’t matter. Her stomach turned inside out as she heaved. She heard her groans, her whimpers, and she heard Louie’s terrified screams just before he was impaled by the branch of a poplar tree, 20 feet up from the ground.

  That was three, which left her… next… to die. The shock hit her like a bullet, crashing into her body, running up through her spinal cord and piercing her brain. And darkness, blessed darkness as the shadowed shape of a large wolf burrowed its nose between her legs.

  Chapter 2

  Grace thought she was dead even as she woke up. There was no mercy from her brain as every vivid detail of her attack rushed at her from behind her closed eyelids. She whimpered and tried to move, but her body protested, broken, bleeding, bruised. It wasn’t heaven then, so still a version of hell. She stayed still for a minute, breathing shallowly, then forced her eyelids open a sliver, assessing her surroundings. There was light enough to see shadows and dim shapes, the air warm enough that perhaps she was inside. No noise though, not a whisper, not a breeze. She moved one of her hands to the blanket below her, a course weave, dirty and worn. It was the only thing that shielded her body from the rough wooden floor boards.

  She moaned as she shifted slightly and then realized she was still naked. She froze again, listening for a nearby presence. Silence. As she inched herself up to a sitting position, dizziness washed over her and her stomach lurched. She embraced it with a note of gratitude that she was still alive, that she could move, feel, breathe. She reached a hand to her head to rub at her temple and grazed her hair, matted in places. She swallowed as she opened her eyes more widely and looked at it, at herself. She was still wearing the blood of her attackers. She didn’t know whether to be sick or thankful that her body hadn’t been further molested.

  Then she remembered the wolf, nosing between her thighs before she fainted. What had it been doing? She dropped a hand to her stomach, rubbing it across the welts left there by the belting, then lower. A deep hard voice penetrated the shadows, “If you are going to give me a show, my preference is that you wash the stink of the males off first.”

  Grace let out a small shriek as she pushed herself away from the direction of the voice, crawled on the floor until her back was at a wall. Her entire body protested the abruptness of her movements, blood rushed to her head and her sanity tried to flee. She wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged them tightly, willing the trembling to stop. Willing her fragile courage not to unravel. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice reedy and weak, her words hesitant.

  No answer.

  “Am I safe?” Grace thought she could endure everything else that would come her way if she knew that she wouldn’t be harmed.

  A chair scraped and then a form materialized out of the shadows. A man, massive in height, leanly muscled, long brown untidy hair, eyes unnaturally grey. He was bare-chested and footed, wearing pants that settled low on his hips. His presence was startling – it dwarfed the room they were in, blocked the light, diminished her. In any other circumstance, Grace would be awestruck at his magnificence. But instead, his profile induced terror and she sucked in her fear as she shuddered.

  “A wolf… a wolf…” she stuttered.

  “My wolf.” His voice was deep without inflection, without empathy.

  “Your… ?”

  He crouched in front of her, legs bent at the knees and splayed, forearms resting on his massive thighs, long, fearsome hands dangling between them. “My wolf.”

  “I… I don’t understand. It killed… I was… I thought it would kill me.”

  “Looks like it didn’t.” He sniffed the air and grimaced. “You stink.”

  “My clothes…” Tears slipped from her eyes.

  “Shower first.”

  Grace shrank as he gripped her arms, hauling her to her feet without a care for the painful bruising over her body. She tried to stand, but her knees were shaky and she faltered. He seemed not to notice as he tightened his grip and pulled her along behind him. She stumbled but he didn’t slow his gait. He shoved her into a small bathroom, only a shower, a dripping faucet in a yellowing sink, a toilet with no lid, and a cracked mirror.

  “I can’t stand the smell of them,” he grunted as he handed her a bar of lye soap. “Wash it off. Make sure you get it all or I’ll scrub you myself.”

  He s
lammed the door behind him and sobs spilled from Grace’s mouth as she gazed in dismay at the bathroom. A small towel hung on a nail and she pulled it to her. It was worn through but relatively clean, enough that she could shower and then dry herself. But it was too small to save her modesty, what shreds she had left. She showered in tepid water, but it didn’t matter. It washed off the horror of last night, at least the physical horror. There was little chance that her brain would forget the brutal death not only of a man she loved, but of her three attackers. If she’d had anything in her stomach, she would have vomited again.

  After the shower, she assessed herself in the dirty cracked mirror. Her brown hair hung in limp wet strands clinging to her sallow cheeks. One of her eyes was black, livid bruises across her cheek and a puffy split lip. A scrape on her forehead and nail marks on her neck and chest. She shuddered. A creak behind her caused her heart to flare and she turned to the door. It was opening. He stood there, broad-chested, arms folded across it. “Come out.”