by Spellbound- An Anthology of Erotically Retold Fairy Tales [Ravenous] (epub)
“I want you to throw acid in her face. And if you break a bone or two, so much the better. Just don’t kill her. I want her to suffer.”
Big Sal looked Moira in the eye. “Twenty grand in small bills.”
Moira smiled. Cheaper than I thought.
She met Big Sal again two days later. This time, the location was a sleazy bar on the Bowery. She was almost afraid to leave the safety of her taxi. She handed him an envelope. “It’s all there.”
Once Big Sal saw the money, he stood up. But instead of walking out, he whipped out a badge. Twisting Moira’s arms behind her, he snapped on handcuffs. “You’re under arrest.” Three of the grubby, smelly people at the bar turned out to be undercover cops who joined in on reading Moira her rights.
* * * *
As Sasha and Aiden snuggled in bed, they turned on the late news at 11. Horrified, they watched in shock as Moira King was dragged off in handcuffs screaming for her lawyer. It was alleged she had put out a contract on her stepdaughter.
Aiden turned to Sasha, a mischievous smile in his eyes. “All’s well that ends well.” Sasha laughed and hit him with a pillow. One thing led to another.
Windrush
By Charlotte Boyett~Compo
“Come on, Baby. You can do it. Treat your daddy right now.” He slid the palm of his hand over her seat and patted her gently. Night had fallen outside. To the north, lightning whip-stitched the black velvet of the sky. The ozone smell of approaching rain tickled his nostrils.
“Just open up for me, Sweet Thing. You know you wanna purr for your daddy. Come on. Let him hear you.”
He whispered soft, sensuous words to her as he slid his hand to the place that turned her on. Circling the opening with the tip of his finger, he shifted his hips and pressed into her.
Nothing happened. She sat there like a lump on a log.
“Come on, Baby!” he pleaded.
Hayver Kenyon tried twice more to get the engine to turn over, then slammed his palms against the steering wheel.
“Thanks, Babe,” he grumbled. “Thanks for nothing!”
He slumped in the comfort of the crushed velvet seat, curled his hands around the steering wheel, and stared at the flashes illuminating the night. Here he was, stuck on a country road in the middle of nowhere, with a dead battery, the top down on his new convertible, and rain coming.
“I am so screwed!” he hissed.
Twisting around in the seat, Hayver looked out across the dark countryside. It was so quiet he could hear the cicadas and crickets revving up their serenades. There wasn’t a light in sight: no farm houses, no barns, no nothing. Only the wide-open vista of soybean fields undulating in the fresh wind on a humid Iowa night.
Holding his breath, Hayver reached down to try the key one more time.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Something rattled the soybeans along the opposite side of the gravel road and Hayver jumped, his heart skipping a beat. He could barely see the fuzzy head of a fat raccoon when it appeared between low branches of the plant.
“Any motels nearby, Dude?” he asked, startling the creature.
The raccoon spun around and waddled back through the beans.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Hayver called out.
A crack of lightning rent the air as the first drop of rain struck the convertible’s windshield.
Hayver moaned. He didn’t have a hat, umbrella or a newspaper—nothing with which to shield his $100 haircut. Growling, he shoved open the door, got out, then slammed it as hard as he could. The car rocked.
“Shit!” Hayver snapped, and kicked the driver side tire.
He crammed his hands into the pockets of his designer slacks, hunched his shoulders, and started walking as a gentle mist fell around him. Beneath the soles of his very expensive loafers, he felt the sharp edges of the gravel.
“You had to take the road less traveled,” he said aloud.
To get his mind off the barren feel of the empty road and the dark night, Hayver thought about the photo shoot he’d done in Des Moines earlier that day. It was good exposure for him—or so his agent swore—to be in a layout for a magazine that any woman could pick up at the supermarket checkout stand. Not to mention the sizable chunk of cash the shoot earned him. He’d enjoyed himself, and liked the female model and photographer. The folks from the magazine treated Hayver like visiting royalty. It had been a good day until he decided to see some of the countryside, and headed over to Madison County to check out the famous covered bridges and John Wayne’s birthplace.
The beans rustled again and Hayver stopped, staring into the field, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. He was a city boy, born and raised in New York. What do I know about the critters that make the Midwest their home? he thought. Are there wolves and coyotes in Iowa? Do they go tripping through soybean fields late at night in search of little night snacks?
“Knock it off, Kenyon!” he chided himself. Hayver picked up his speed. He leaned into the wind and tossed his hair, grimacing as the rain pebbled his face.
Mentally kicking himself with every step he took, Hayver wished he could go back a few days and not to drive his own car out to the west coast for his next gig. He made enough money as a male model to ship the convertible. Right now I could be on a jet with a cocktail in hand.
“But noooo,” he said, drawing out the word. “You had to get to know the real America.” He kicked at the gray dirt.
The rain ran down the collar of Hayver’s silk shirt, plastering it to his back. He was miserable. A flash overhead startled him and he flinched, waiting for the clap of thunder that would follow.
But it wasn’t thunder passing above Hayver with a rush of sound. Instead, something huge flew right over his head with a single mighty flap of wings. Hayver ducked, dragging his hands out of his pockets to throw his arms up for protection. He heard a loud hiss. Then the thunder rumbled, shaking the ground beneath Hayver’s feet.
He straightened and looked up, blinking against the intrusion of rain drops in his eyes. As lightning flared again, he thought he saw an immense shadow moving overhead; but the rain was coming down in torrents. Hayver’s vision was blurred from all the water. He shook his head, wincing as wet strands of hair stuck to his cheek. He raked a hand through the sodden mess to push it back from his forehead.
The rush of sound came again and his heart trip hammered in his chest. Something swooped over him and he started running, digging the toes of his Italian loafers into the squelch of the cloying gray clay.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Hayver cried, falling back on his parochial school upbringing as once more the dark shape flowed above his head and a hissing sound sent shivers down his spine.
He knew there was no way to outrun whatever it was careening above him. It was much too large to be a bird. The sound it made gliding through the rain was unnerving and sounded dangerous. As it soared over Hayver’s head once more, he felt its downdraft. Hayver came to a skidding stop as he caught sight of it beyond him, banking steeply as it turned to make another run. The sky pulsed bright light and in that instant Hayver got a clear look at the creature.
“Holy shit!” he said. He froze—mouth open, eyes wide, unable to move—as his winged adversary landed 50 feet away on the deserted stretch of road.
The beast was immense. Covered in copper scales that glistened in the rain against bolts of lightning, it was at least 20 feet in length from its triangular head to the tip of its thick, spade-like tail. Curved, barbed fins projected from a long tail. Its wingspan was surely twice the length of its powerful body. Hunched on the road with massive forepaws flexed and powerful haunches primed to leap, it surveyed Hayver with serpentine eyes that glowed a phosphorous green beneath a scaly eye ridge.
The monster hissed and Hayver’s knees went weak with terror. He half-expected the beast to open its maw of a mouth and breathe fire on him, reducing him to a smoldering heap of ash.
“Please don’t flambé me,” he pleaded, ashamed his
voice cracked.
The glistening muzzle twitched. Its large scalloped ears slanted downward and rotated like a radar sweep. Two long spiny horns perched atop its triangular head tilted to the side, as though the creature strained to hear Hayver’s words. Scaly pads came down over chatoyant eyes as it blinked.
Suddenly, all the hair on Hayver’s body stood up. Lighting struck and speared the ground feet from where he stood. He screamed, throwing himself to the mud-slick ground as the sharp scent of sulfur filled the air. Torrential rain lashed his body as Hayver choked, his face in a puddle. His shirt was a sodden, mud-caked mess that stuck to him like cold glue. Beneath Hayver the ground shook; but he knew it wasn’t from the thunder. He could hear the slap of giant paws hitting the rain-soaked ground, the scrape of talons striking the gravel.
I’m a dead man.
The claws that curled over Hayver’s shoulders did not pierce his skin as he was dragged out of the mud and became airborne. He dangled like a cucumber on a vine as the beast soared through the storm, its giant wings flapping almost silently in a slow, graceful arc. It rose up to avoid the tree line, carrying Hayver higher with every sweep of the membranous appendages.
This isn’t happening, he thought. What the hell was in that diner food I had at lunch?
From the moment Hayver got a good look at the beast, all he knew of reality had gone out the window. He shivered. Hayver peeked down past his dangling feet and saw he had one missing loafer.
When the scalloped edges of the black mountains came into view, Hayver could only gape at the dark, undulating line and wonder where the hell he was.
“Where are you taking me?” he shouted, craning his neck to look up at the underside of the beast. The massive body blocked out the night sky and the ripple of its muscles made Hayver realize he was probably take-out: There was no doubt a little woman dragon waiting at home with a bib-fork in one paw and a knife in the other.
* * * *
Coming in low, the beast never missed a wing-beat as it swooped through a large opening in the mountain and glided along a dark tunnel that led deeper into the interior of the South Dakota cave. Lowering its massive hind paws to the cave’s floor, it arched its upper body so the human would not be dragged against the rocky ground and came to a stop. It needed no light by which to see, but knew the human male was completely blind in the stygian darkness. Gently, the creature lowered its catch until the male was standing. It backed away, turned its enormous head, opened its muzzle and blew a concentrated stream of fire to light the torches lining the walls of the cave.
Hayver shrieked as the creature breathed fire and the air around him became superheated. He scurried like a rat to the farthest point of the cave and stood there, quivering.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” he said, hands clenched together as he dropped to his knees. “Blessed are thou amongst…” When the dragon belched another torrent of sulfurous breath and more lights blazed to life, Hayver was afraid the next blast would include him being quick-flamed—crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside.
The dragon settled down on its haunches and regarded him, tilting its head from side to side, no doubt trying to decide whether or not it should add barbeque or teriyaki sauce to his grilling. Those enormous, glowing green eyes blinked in a way that reminded Hayver vividly of an agent he’d once dated in Paris.
“Michelle?” he questioned, then shook his head at the ridiculous notion that had come over him. So what if Michelle Le Grand had hair almost the same shade of copper as the scales on the creature? And, yes, her thighs were a little on the thick side but…
A snort came from the beast and one bony eye protrusion arched upward as though the dragon had plucked his thought from the ether and wasn’t pleased by his silent observation.
“No offense!” he said, putting up a hand, palm outward. “You’ve got nice thighs!”
The creature made a huffing sound.
“So,” Hayver said, looking around for a way to escape and finding the only exit behind the beast. He knew he wouldn’t make it 10 feet before he was gobbled up. A vivid image of being crunched between gleaming white fangs and having his thigh bone used as a toothpick didn’t appeal to him. “What are you going to…?”
Hayver stopped—the words freezing in his throat—as the creature pushed up from the cave floor and came sidling toward him, the long tail dragging behind. A low whimper escaped Hayver and he pressed against the stone.
Claws ticking on the rocky ground, spiny barbs scraping against the cave’s ceiling, the beast thrust its triangular visage with its flaring black nostrils and wisp of a reddish goatee right into Hayver’s terrified face. He could smell the crisp of ash on its breath, like piles of dried leaves smoldering on a crisp autumn afternoon.
“Please don’t eat me,” Hayver pleaded. “I may look good but I would really leave a bad taste in your mouth.”
The dragon’s maw opened in a fang-loaded grin. A gleam entered those glowing eyes and it turned its head, offering its jaw.
Hayver’s brows slashed together. “What? You want a kiss?”
The long neck swiveled so the creature was looking him in the eye. For a moment it just stared at him, then turned its head once more.
“You want a kiss,” he stated, disbelief lifting his brows into his wet hairline.
A low, purring sound came from the beast. The horny spikes on the eye ridge fluttered several times and the pale tinge of rose pulsed along bony protrusions just under the eye sockets.
Pressed against the wall, there was nowhere for Hayver to go. He couldn’t get around the beast and—even if he could—it would be on him before he got very far. Just imagining being stamped down by one of those massive paws sent a shiver down his spine.
As he stood there, the creature lightly bumped its jaw on his chest. Then it rubbed its head against Hayver like a cat would its owner’s leg, purring the entire time.
“Why you little flirt,” he heard himself say and was rewarded with the offer of a kiss to the scaly jaw once more. He swallowed. “And you’re persistent.”
Well, he thought, I’ve slept with many a woman on my way to the top of the male supermodel ladder. Actors weren’t the only ones who made good use of the casting couch. Hayver’s sexual expertise had been honed with power brokers and agency owners who were only one step away from being flesh peddlers. It wasn’t as though he had any scruples about pleasuring homely women. But a dragon?
“Ah, no offense, Sweetie, but I’m not into bestiality. I—”
Once more the jaw rubbed against Hayver’s chest and held there, the low purring vibrating through his body from the close contact. The paw scraped at the ground.
“Okay,” Hayver said, reaching up to clumsily pat the creature’s spade-like head. His hand bounced above the scales a few times before, with a grimace, he lowered his palm to the horny plate. The feel surprised him. Instead of being hard, the plain of the scales was soft, almost silky, and undulated beneath his palm. Hayver stroked the head, screwed up his courage, and lowered his lips to the extended jaw to give the beast a gentle kiss.
A loud sound of contentment came from the long neck of the creature and it moved back, its tail curling around to hook in front of its paws—vividly reminding Hayver again of a feline.
“No biting now,” he said, hoping the hot look that had suddenly appeared in the beast’s eyes wasn’t a prelude to munching.
A plume of lavender smoke burst from the creature’s body. Hayver coughed, fanning away the thick waves of sweet-smelling vapors. As it began to clear, he realized the creature had disappeared.
“Michelle!” Hayver gasped. “It is you!”
She stood where the creature had perched, clad in a long gown covered in copper-colored sequins. Long reddish-gold hair rippled back from the porcelain features of her exquisite face. The sweep of long black lashes slid slowly, seductively over the sparkling green gems of her eyes. She smiled, the coral shimmer on her pouty lips revealing straigh
t, white teeth.
“’Little woman dragon waiting at home with a bib, fork in one paw and a knife in the other?’” she questioned, coming steadily toward him on the six-inch heels of her French sling-back peep-toes. The train of her sparkling gown dragged along the cave floor.
“This isn’t happening,” Hayver said, shaking his head. “You’re not—it isn’t—” He shook his head again. “I’m going crazy!”
“’Please don’t eat me? I may look good but I would really leave a bad taste in your mouth?’” she repeated and threw her head back, hair sweeping the curve of her shapely hips. Michelle’s laugh was sultry. “Oh, Hayver, really!”
Long apricot fingernails pushed the wet silk of Hayver’s shirt against his pecs as she pressed her body to his. She tilted her head, her smile predatory.
“What are you?” he whispered. His eyes searched her lovely face. There was no hint of a beast behind the creamy complexion, the high cheekbones, the almond-shaped green eyes and the swan-like neck.
Michelle’s lips thrust out in a sexy pout. “Well, now, let me think. Didn’t you once call me a dragon lady?” She flexed her nails over his chest. “I looked that up and do you know what it said a dragon lady was, Pretty Boy?”
Hayver had one hell of a hard-on with her clinging to his body. He knew she had to feel the hard erection between them.
“A fiercely vigilant and unpleasant women,” she declared before he could answer. Her green eyes glittered as she smoothed her palms over his shoulders. “Is that how you see me?”
“Ah, no,” Hayver said. “I didn’t mean it in that way.”
One finely-tweezed brow lifted. “And how exactly did you mean it?” Her hands moved from his shoulders down his arms and her fingers shackled his wrists, bringing them up to clamp them to her hips. Her hands slid between his arms and hooked around his waist, drawing him securely to her.
“Michelle, I’m way in over my head here. This is really bizarre, and I must be dreaming. There’s no other explanation. This whole night has been—”
