by Gwynn White
"You know you want to kill them but now how, right?" She drummed her hand absently on the table considering. It would be easy get to the White Queen when she returned for payment, but the Red Queen would be exponentially more difficult. Unless she promoted a new assassin to lead the guild. Regardless of whom the guild paid allegiance, the King of Hearts would only bow to Rebecca. The minute she got out of jail she learned no one else had ever taken up the post of Queen of Hearts again.
"What if we call Paul?" she asked.
"You mean..." March trailed off.
"If he's still alive, he'd be the one she'd have given the new head office. He always did have a knack for staying alive. All I'd need to do is tell him the plan. It would happen."
She flipped open her communicator and entered the number to Paul's secure line. Her old friend answered sleep heavy in his eyes."Who is this?" She leaned back so the overhead light caught the gold shine in her hair. He jumped out of bed pressing his face close to the screen. "Rebecca? I thought you were dead."
"Funny...a lot of people thought I died. Hell, I thought it for a while too."
"Why are you calling me? It was never a secret you preferred March over me."
"March and I were lovers. You were always my best friend. Anyway, I have a job I need you to do."
"Name it."
"Kill the Red Queen."
He dropped the communicator in surprise. To his credit he didn't sputter or try to change her mind. "How long do I have?"
She looked at March, and he held up one finger. "Until tomorrow."
"Tomorrow then." He hung up before she could say anything else. It wasn't just March she'd missed, and it hurt her that Paul hung up so fast.
Rebecca shook it off and looked back to the others. "Done."
Blake and Dory didn't leave fast enough. In fact, March would have been perfectly happy if they hadn't stopped by at all. Rebecca would have been naked and thrown on the very table the four of them sat around.
In fact... "Gentlemen, it's been real. I'll see you back here in a few hours for the transport to Earth Prime."
They must have seen the glint in his eye because they wished Rebecca a good night and left without a fuss.
Before she even turned to get up from the table he had her lifted ass flat on the worn wood. Her eyes rounded but she didn't make a move to stop him. When his lips descended on hers, he thought he heard the rumble of a faint growl. They latched onto each other clutching, grasping clothes, and devouring one another's mouths. It had been far too long since either of them had touched another intimately.
He pulled himself from her lips. "It's been so long. I can't be delicate. I'll try but—"
She stopped his words with her mouth kissing him brutally, hard enough his teeth scraped hers as their tongues meshed together.
Her clothes became a barrier he needed gone. He pulled back to start stripping her and she caught his intention. As fast as possible she ripped off her boots allowing them to clatter to the floor. She leaned back, and he worked her belt open before ripping her pants down her legs. As he pulled it off her ankles, she lifted her shirt. The only thing between her flesh and his was a tiny scrap of cotton and his own clothing.
He removed every stitch and pressed down into her on the table, she didn't complain about his weight. Her cotton underwear was still a barrier between them, but the silk of her inner thighs around his hips and the sexy hollow below her throat were bare to his mouth and hands e breathed her in for a moment. She still smelled the same, like chocolate and sunshine.
"Will you stop worrying?" She reached down and grabbed his hard cock. "I won't break."
Her words stripped the last of his reserves. He ripped her panties off and flung them away. Rebecca maneuvered him to her opening already wet for him. He pushed in with no preamble until he was fully seated inside of her. March held himself there, panting, trying to regain some control. Five years of celibacy was a very long time.
She clutched his forearms framing her waist in an attempt to keep his weight off, her nails dug into the tender flesh. He shifted and groaned. After so long he didn't want their reunion to be a quick pump and dump. He wanted it to be good for her. In his mind he recounted the steps to making a hat in an attempt to gain control. When that didn't help he moved on to riddles. They finally gave him enough control to slide out of her slowly and back in. She wanted nothing to do with slow as she slid her hand between them to press a finger to her clit.
"I haven't had sex in a very long time, March, get on with it." She moved her hand, her knuckles pressing up against him, and he couldn't hold back. He put his feet flat on the floor, gripped her hips, and slid her forward so he could fuck her properly. He put her arms out on the sides of the table to hold herself steady as he pushed into her hard and fast, his hips meeting her with the slap of muscle against muscle.
She lifted her head to stare between them. "That's more like it."
Rebecca clenched her muscles around him adding to the sensation of her hot, slippery heat, and he knew he only had a few more pumps before he fell into his orgasm. He pulled out of her and dropped his mouth to her clit sucking the swollen nub gently. She cried out thrusting her hands into his hair. He fisted his dick rocking his hips into his palm as he slid his free hand up her belly to hold her down as he feasted on her. She even tasted the same.
March bit softly at her clit before licking across her opening. She cried out pressing her hips off the table into his mouth, her orgasm consuming her, as he shot hot jets of cum onto the floor. He licked softly to bring her down as he stroked himself.
As she untangled her fingers from his hair he realized she'd pulled it hard, and the ribbon fell away leaving it messy and hanging down his back. She didn't get up, and that was fine with him. He stood and found something to clean them with, taking care of her first, then him. She sat up and looked around for her pants. "Next time I want to come with you inside me."
He laughed and planted a soft kiss on her pink lips. "Whatever you want."
The same transport took her, March, and the mouse man back to Earth Prime, but she rode on the bridge while the others rode as passengers. The white rabbit hadn't shown, and March shrugged it off saying he must have been too scared. Luck had been kind to them, and the men could easily sneak into the castle while the court held the daily petitions.
The ride seemed much shorter as she anticipated thrusting her blade into the heart of the White Queen. The woman had to have known March was the Hatter. She never missed a detail of anything. She might even suspect Rebecca to be on her way back to kill her too. No matter, Rebecca was good at her job.
She got off with the passengers this time allowing them to trail behind her as she walked quickly through the castle's battlements. As she entered the major court the queen motioned for her king to take over the petitions and gestured for her to follow. The White Queen lived up to her name, and Rebecca's black clothing marked her as an outsider to both king and commoner alike. Every single person at court wore white at the queen's bidding, but Rebecca wasn't her subject just her mercenary.
The men followed at a distance. All Rebecca needed to do was get close enough to the queen to spill her blood. Everything would be covered in red, nothing shying away from the warm liquid not even the bleach white roses the queen kept all around her. She followed slow and steady even as her blood burned hot with adrenaline and the need to get there faster.
The queen went into an anti-chamber, but as Rebecca entered she halted then made an immediate retreat only to be stopped by four guards capturing her arms. Inside the room stood the White Queen, the Red Queen, and the white rabbit.
He'd sold them out, and he would die for it. She swallowed the foul words rising in her throat and allowed them to hold her lulling them into a false sense of security. March and the mouse came running in to find themselves equally at a disadvantage. When she'd found herself in this predicament five years ago, she'd been scared, but this time she felt nothing.
&nb
sp; Paul stood off to the side with a knife pressed to his throat and his hands bound in chains. Rebecca took a moment to wonder how they'd caught him.
The Red Queen stalked forward and gripped her chin hard enough to bruise. "My dear assassin, you've been busy."
It was hard to speak with her lips compressed from the force of the queen's hand, but she managed. "Well you know, I have a lot of catching up to do."
The Red Queen let her go. "This is easy. You'll all be decapitated, and then I can go home and pretend this—" she gestured to everyone "—didn't happen."
Paul moved causing the chains to rattle, and Rebecca glanced at him. He flicked his head back drawing her attention to the door behind the guards gripping his restraints. Except this door looked different than all the rest. Usually an atom door was matte black and opaque. This door stood as high as the ceiling but sparkled with the light and cast distorted reflections back at them.
If the door was Paul's escape plan, she'd go with it. There were odds to calculate: three guards on March, the mouse, and Paul, four on her, and three more standing by the exit. She'd died once already...why the hell not tempt fate again?
Rebecca stood with her feet wide and addressed both of the queens. "Before I go, I'd like you two to know I'll be back to rip those pretty little heads off." The guards had no time to react, in seconds the guards holding her were on the floor with blood pouring from grisly chest wounds. The trick to fast kill was a knife sharp enough to slice through bone without resistance and penetrate the heart in one smooth motion.
The other two guards moved forward, and she dispatched them with ease, still numb to her surroundings. It seemed her time in prison only made her a better killer.
The White Queen called for reinforcements so Rebecca ran toward the door instead of slicing both of the queens open. March and mouse followed, and the four of them ran through the silver door together.
They exited into a busy square with people rushing around them. They turned back to find the door gone. Nothing but brick stood where they had just come through. March touched his hand to the surface and shook his head. "It's gone."
Rebecca spun in a circle trying to get her bearings. "Where are we?"
The mouse pointed to a screen above their heads. "That sign says: 'Welcome to London.'"
"I think I read about London is a children's book: a fairy-tale. It wasn't a terrible place, just different than our own. We can regroup here," she said as she wrapped her arms around March's waist. He smiled down at her. They were together, that was the important part.
He kissed the top of her head and they walked up the street toward the smell of food.
The End
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About the Author
Monica Corwin is an outspoken writer who attempts to make romance accessible to everyone no matter their preferences. As a new Northern Ohioian Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and disliking Michigan. When not writing Monica spends time with her daughter and her ever growing collection of tomes about King Arthur.
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Since the Sirens: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse
E.E. Isherwood
Since the Sirens:
Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 1
© 2015 E.E. Isherwood
* * *
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Since the Sirens: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 1
Getting grandma out of the zombie apocalypse will take a miracle. Or two.
Life is hard enough at fifteen…
Banished by bad decisions to spend the summer with his great-grandmother, Liam Peters thinks his life is over. After all, Marty Peters is a tough woman to be around. Maybe she wouldn’t be so bad if she'd just take an interest in the modern technology he loves. Sure, she has some insight to her…but the woman is practically “pushing daisies.” Not surprisingly, as tornado sirens announce a city-wide emergency, Liam discovers why that term should be avoided…well…like the plague.
When Grandma Marty tries to send him on his way, refusing to abandon her home, Liam sees his situation in a new light. Something deep inside awakens—and he chafes at the thought of leaving his 104-year-old grandmother to die. Armed with two tiny pistols and an arsenal of knowledge from his overwhelming zombie book collection, Liam realizes he could be the hero and accomplish the impossible: rescue her.
With the interstate gridlocked, opportunist criminals looking to take what they can get, law enforcement desperate to keep the peace, and the military declaring St. Louis a war-zone, Liam and Marty find themselves wrapped up in a world of chaos and panic. But when the zombies begin to overshadow everything else, Liam comes to appreciate why there are no atheists in foxholes.
Since the Sirens is the gripping first installment of E. E. Isherwood’s hit post-apocalyptic series Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse. If you like to watch society collapse, zombie hordes bear down on the heroes, and skin-of-teeth escapes, you won’t be able to put down this awesome read!
1
CIV
Martinette Peters leaned against her oven and thought about hunger. She guessed she'd cooked tens of thousands of meals during more than a century of living, but this morning was different. She was off the script.
These days her breakfast was prepared by Angie, the nurse who lived in the upstairs flat of Marty’s two-family red brick home. Bacon. Eggs. Toast. The same things she'd made for her the past two years. Every day. Without fail. But today Angie hadn't come down at her regular time and hadn't answered the intercom or her telephone. Marty waited as long as possible for her chef but soon thought about how to cook those things for herself. What was once second nature now required proper planning.
She studied the cabinets, the pantry, and her cooking dishes. Everything she needed was far above. Either she was getting shorter, or Angie had intentionally placed everything on shelves out of reach.
She walked from the kitchen, leaning on her cane. A bag of bread hung from her free hand. That, mercifully, had been within her grasp on the counter. The phone rang as she guided herself into her comfy chair. Her cane remained nearby.
“This is the Metropolitan Police Department, City of St. Louis, with an emergency alert. Violent disturbances have been reported in multiple locations within St. Louis city limits. There is a risk of injury or death to any participants or bystanders. If you hear this message, we urge immediate evacuation to safer areas. Follow instructions from city or police officials in your neighborhood. Be alert for additional emergency messages. (Pause) This is the Metropolitan … ”
Shifting in her seat, she listened as the robocall repeated through the answering machine. She screened everything these days, responding at her leisure, if at all. Despite having many friends and relatives, she seldom had energy for chit-chatting. At 104 years of age, she assured herself it was okay to be picky.
The announcement finally ended with a beep, leaving her to her thoughts.
Well
, I'm not going to run for the hills!
She glanced at the two-wheeled walker in the corner, tennis ball-swathed feet fresh and yellow—she hated using that big device. If she were going to chance an escape, which she certainly was not, she'd use the smaller, quad-footed cane sitting by her side. She despised that thing too, but grudgingly admitted it helped her get around more effectively than grasping at walls and furniture while patrolling the cozy single-level flat.
Ignoring the robocall’s instructions, she resumed cross-stitching under the timeless rhythm of the wall clock. Angie would call sooner or later, and then the day would start properly.
It wasn't long after the phone alert when she heard a great banging sound from the front of the apartment. To her hearing-amplified ears, it sounded like someone had fallen down the stairs leading to the upstairs flat. Over the years, she'd heard many things dropped down those stairs, including many by her grandchildren who just loved playing on them despite her stern warnings. She had also come to know the sound of someone tripping up the stairs, or falling down the steep flight. This was a case of the latter.
“Angie, is that you?” she asked, though she knew her raised voice was still too weak to be heard in the front of the house, through a wooden door.
Getting up, she patiently grasped her cane, pushing up on the armchair with her free hand. Normally it was Angie who would come down to help her when she had trouble getting out of her chair after being comfortable for too long. A quick buzz on the intercom was all it took. This time, she was able to make the transition from sit to stand unaided.
She lamented that if someone up front was counting on her to help them quickly, they were in trouble. With her hunched back and sub-five-foot stature her gait was a slow shuffle at best—foot, foot, cane. It was, however, very steady most of the time. That, at least, would give the desperately injured some modicum of hope of eventual rescue.
