1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen
Page 1
1001 Dark Nights
Bundle 14
Five Novellas
By
Kristen Ashley
Carrie Ann Ryan
K. Bromberg
Joanna Wylde
And introducing JB Salsbury
1001 Dark Nights
1001 Dark Nights: Bundle 14
ISBN 978-1-948050-40-1
Rock Chick Reawakening: A Rock Chick Novella
By Kristen Ashley
Copyright 2017 Kristen Ashley
Adoring Ink: A Montgomery Ink Novella
By Carrie Ann Ryan
Copyright 2017 Carrie Ann Ryan
Sweet Rivalry
By K. Bromberg
Copyright 2017 K. Bromberg
Shade’s Lady: A Reapers MC Novella
By Joanna Wylde
Copyright 2017 Fat Robin Press LLC
Fighting for Flight
By JB Salsbury
Copyright JB Salsbury
Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose
Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
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Featuring stories by
Sidney Bristol, Darcy Burke, T. Gephart
Stacey Kennedy, Adriana Locke
JB Salsbury, and Erika Wilde
Table of Contents
Foreword
Rock Chick Reawakening by Kristen Ashley
Adoring Ink by Carrie Ann Ryan
Sweet Rivalry by K. Bromberg
Shade’s Lady by Joanna Wylde
Fighting for Flight by JB Salsbury
Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Five
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Discover the World of 1001 Dark Nights
Special Thanks
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهریار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday’s wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier’s daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Rock Chick Reawakening
A Rock Chick Novella
By Kristen Ashley
About Kristen Ashley
Kristen Ashley was born in Gary, Indiana, USA and nearly killed her mother and herself making it into the world, seeing as she had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck (already attempting to accessorize and she hadn't taken her first breath!). Her mother said they took Kristen away, put her Mom back in her room, her mother looked out the window, and Gary was on fire (Dr. King had been assassinated four days before). Kristen's Mom remembered thinking it was the end of the world. Quite the dramatic beginning.
Nothing's changed.
Kristen grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana and has lived in Denver, Colorado and the West Country of England. Thus, she's blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her family was (is) loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write. They all lived together on a very small farm in a small farm town in the heartland. She grew up with Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon and Whitesnake (and the wardrobes that matched).
Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music, clothes and love was a good way to grow up.
And as she keeps growing, it keeps getting better.
You can find more information about her books at www.kristenashley.net.
Also from Kristen Ashley
Click to purchase
Rock Chick Series:
Rock Chick
Rock Chick Rescue
Rock Chick Redemption
Rock Chick Renegade
Rock Chick Revenge
Rock Chick Reckoning
Rock Chick Regret
Rock Chick Revolution
The ’Burg Series:
For You
At Peace
Golden Trail
Games of the Heart
The Promise
Hold On
The Chaos Series:
Own the Wind
Fire Inside
Ride Steady
Walk Through Fire
The Colorado Mountain Series:
The Gamble
Sweet Dreams
Lady Luck
Breathe
Jagged
Kaleidoscope
Bounty
Dream Man Series:
Mystery Man
Wild Man
Law Man
Motorcycle Man
The Fantasyland Series:
Wildest Dreams
The Golden Dynasty
Fantastical
Broken Dove
Midnight Soul
The Magdalene Series:
The Will
Soaring
The Three Series:
Until the Sun Falls from the Sky
With Everything I Am
Wild and Free
The Unfinished Hero Series:
Knight
Creed
Raid
Deacon
Sebring
Other Titles by Kristen Ashley:
Fairytale Come Alive
Heaven and Hell
Lacybourne Manor
Lucky Stars
Mathilda, SuperWitch
Penmort Castle
Play It Safe
Sommersgate House
Three Wishes
Acknowledgments from the Author
I would like to thank Liz Berry for being so danged excited when I said the words, “I’m thinking about doing Daisy and Marcus,” when we were discussing what novella I could write for 1,001 Dark Nights. It gave me just the push I needed, with a little cheerleader high kick and jump to boot, to explore Daisy and Marcus and have the beauty I experienced while writing these pages.
And as ever, my gratitude to Erika Wynne, my sister in so many things, not just blood. She is always but always at my back, at my side or forging the way to cut a path to make things easier for me. It’s impossible to express how exquisite it is to have that. But I try in each and every book I write to share just a little of the vastness of the beauty of the sisterhood that she gives to me.
Dedication
Last, this book is dedicated to all you Rock Chicks out there.
You know who you are.
You know the life you helped me build.
You know how much I appreciate it.
You wanted Daisy and Marcus, and it’s my extreme pleasure to give them to you.
Rock on!
Prologue
Building Castles
Daisy
“You’re a lunatic!”
“You didn’t think that when I had my mouth wrapped around your dick!”
“That’s because you couldn’t use it to talk!”
“Kiss my ass!”
“Not anymore, babe. We’re done.”
“Like I care.”
“You’ll care when you got no one’s dick to suck to pay your cable bill.”
My eyes were closed. I was lying alone in my dark room, on my back in my twin bed.
My bed was lumpy, seeing as Momma bought it from a yard sale, but I didn’t feel that.
And my room was small and it didn’t smell all that great, this coming mostly from the carpet. It smelled like that from all the way back when, when we first moved in. Momma didn’t bother to do anything and got mad when I complained about it, so I’d tried to clean it myself, three times. But that smell just wouldn’t go away.
I didn’t smell the smell either.
And I could hear the words but even though they were coming from just down the hall, I was somewhere else.
I was building castles.
“Do not go there!”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m tellin’ you, do not go there!”
The door to my bedroom opened and so did my eyes, the beautiful castle I was building melting clean away.
I could smell the smell.
I could feel the lumps.
I could sense the closeness of the room, its thin walls, its fading, ripped-in-places wallpaper, the ceiling light I never turned on because the cover had been shattered on a night I didn’t like to remember and now it made it too bright when I turned on the light.
“Daisy, sweetheart?” he called.
I looked to the door.
He was in shadows, those caused by the dark of my room and the hall. The only light was coming from somewhere else, probably her bedroom, because it was real late.
Tall, he had a beer belly but he also had broad shoulders.
I liked his shoulders. And his eyes. They were always twinkling when they looked at me. Even when he was mad at Momma, he’d look at me and it was like he forced the ugly out so all he’d ever give me was just the twinkle.
And he always used that soft voice when he talked to me.
Always, even when he was fighting with Momma, like just then.
“Get away from that door!” my mother screeched and I saw the shadowed man jolt as she shoved him to the side.
He came back, hand up, finger pointed in her face.
“Chill,” he bit off.
I wanted to close my eyes but I didn’t. I never could in times like these. Times like these, it was impossible to build castles. I knew this sure as certain.
Seeing as I’d tried.
His head swung back to me.
“I gotta go, girl. You need somethin’, all you gotta—”
“She don’t need shit!” my mother snapped.
His head turned to her again. He hesitated and I watched as his body moved when he took in a deep breath.
Then he looked back to me.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered.
So was I.
I was young, only ten, but I understood why he was sorry.
But he wasn’t sorrier than me.
“You tell her you’re sorry. You treat me like garbage and you tell her you’re sorry?” Momma shouted and the shadowed man jolted again because she’d shoved him again.
He reached in, grabbed the knob to my bedroom door, and pulled it to.
He did stuff like this too, a lot, because they fought, a lot. He tried to make it so I wouldn’t see. Coming down the hall and closing my door. Or when they were in the middle of it and I was in the living room or kitchen, telling me quietly, “Maybe you should go to your room, sweetheart, and close that door, yeah?”
But he could never make it so I wouldn’t hear.
With that, he disappeared.
But she didn’t.
Her voice still came at me.
“That’s it? You’re just leaving?”
Nothing from him.
But more from her.
“You can’t be serious. You cannot be freaking serious!”
He didn’t reply.
“You’re such an asshole. A total freaking asshole.”
He wasn’t an asshole.
He was a good one.
The only good one.
Or, at least, the only good one I’d met.
He didn’t hit her. He didn’t hit me. Both of these my daddy did before he took off and we never saw him again. And other ones did besides (her and me).
He didn’t steal her money (Daddy did that too). He didn’t look at me in a way that made my skin feel funny (it was good that Daddy didn’t do that). He didn’t eat all the food in the house and drink all Momma’s beer and bourbon and then complain there was never any food or beer or bourbon in the house and ride her behind until she got in her junker car and went out to get more for him (and yeah, Daddy had done that too).
Those kinds stayed around a lot longer than this one did.
Too long.
But never that long.
They always left.
Like Daddy did.
And I never missed them.
Yes, even Daddy.
But I’d miss this one with his twinkly eyes and his soft voice and the way he called me sweetheart not like that was what I was, but that was what he had. A sweet heart.
No, there were not a lot of those kinds. Not for Momma.
Not for me.
“Stretch!” she shrieked. “You get back here, Stretch! Get back here!”
The front door slammed.
“Fucking motherfucker!” Momma screamed.
I closed my eyes.
Let myself drift away.
And I started again to build my castle.
* * * *
“A Southern woman always has her table laid.”<
br />
Miss Annamae was talking to me in her pretty dining room with the big dining room table all laid with the finest china, sparkling crystal, shining silver, and its big bunch of light-purply-blue hydrangeas with cream roses set in the middle.
She adjusted a napkin in its holder sitting on a plate that was sitting on a charger that was resting on a pressed linen tablecloth.
“If she’s fortunate,” Miss Annamae went on, and standing opposite the table to her, the fingers of my hands wrapped over the back of a tall chair, all ears, like I always was when I was with Miss Annamae, I watched her move around the table with difficulty. She wasn’t a young woman. She also wasn’t a beaten one, even losing both her kids and her husband and having to carry on alone. “She can change it with the seasons. I have Christmas china.” Her faded blue eyes turned to me and a smile set the wrinkles in her face to shifting. “But you’ve seen that, haven’t you, Miss Daisy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And I had. Miss Annamae did her house up real pretty at Christmas. She always made sure I came over so she could show me all around and give me a tin of Christmas cookies she baked herself.
Momma had been working for Miss Annamae now for over two years. It was the longest job she’d ever had. She usually got fired a lot sooner than that.
I reckoned Miss Annamae kept her on as her daily girl not because she liked her or she did good work and kept a tidy house (which she did not, not Miss Annamae’s and definitely not ours). I also didn’t reckon she kept her on because she liked the fact Momma would be late a lot, show up hungover a lot, call off sick a lot, or one of her “men friends” would show at Miss Annamae’s big, graceful mansion and cause a ruckus.
No, I didn’t reckon any of this was why Miss Annamae kept her on.
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