Georgina Moxley says: August 21, 2010 at 9:25 am

I love you!!! His emails had recited the words over and over, allowing them to resonate in her hungry heart, before also rendering her mind desperate and confused.
Kate glanced sideways at the storefront window, not catching a reflection of her gorgeous dangling blond curls and the wickedly sweet, gooey pink lipstick he found so utterly irresistible. And tonight, they would all be his, along with every tantalizing curve, crack and crevice that her stunning, oversexed body could throw his way.
I need you!!! Erin had said it to her once too often, igniting in her a savagery she could no longer contain. She had tried to suppress it by pilfering from the city’s volunteer blood bank rather that getting it from him or some unsuspecting stranger. But fresh mental images of his insidious tongue hanging stares and moist, fiery kisses, had rekindled the ancient hunger behind her full lush lips. He had told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but, unbeknown to him, she was also the most dangerous.
Kate peeked at her all natural, long painted fingernails, so generously layered in a sensual shimmering pink. She had caught Erin gazing at them longingly, and had watched in stunned fascination as he gently placed those same gorgeous fingernails to his face, rubbing the stubble as though they were playful, razor sharp talons, a sign he had an uncontrollable fetish for her pink painted wares and soft, skillful fingertips.
I adore you!!!. His ears had confirmed it, listening intently for hours to her voice as though he was supremely interested in everything she had to say. “Tell me more,” he would whisper seductively, “about your likes, dislikes, experiences, and above all, whatever it is i can do to make you very, very happy.”
I want you!!! Kate had gathered as much from him by staring deep into his dreamy green eyes, so warm, charming and sincere. He had not allowed them to depart from her “astonishingly pretty face,” as she spoke, hanging off of every one of her succinctly chosen words. Neither had he succumbed to gazing at her amazing, gravity defying cleavage, as other men had so predictably done, other men who had also gravitated even more precisely towards fixating on the two giant bullets protruding into her silk blouses, as though she were an exquisite piece of meat. No, Erin wanted more than just her glorious, voluptuous body. He actually wanted HER! Body, mind and spirit!
And now, she wanted him. She wanted HIM! After just one week of dating, today would be the day that she finally gave all of herself to him. But she would have to make it to their planned meeting place first, and he weather was not co-operating.
The way to fisherman’s beach was obstructed by unusually heavy winds, which confiscated hats and sent swirls of street litter in every direction.
I’m into you!!! She could tell by the way he had held her hand, so firm and purposeful, generating that ‘Idon’teverwannaletyougo’ sensation that caused her instinctively to press her lips to his caring cheek and rest a head upon his ‘youcanleanonmeanytime’ shoulder.
Kate ducked suddenly as a street vendors newspapers were also drawn into the fray, whipping over her head and clinging onto scurrying pedestrians until their rustling sheets were funneled upwards by angry gales into the darkened clouds.
Let me list the top ten things I love about you!!! Another feature of his enticing emails, which were invariably followed up with, let me list ANOTHER top ten things I love about you. It always succeeded in luring her further into the irresistible abyss of his methodical worship. And today, after showing him Alcatraz, she would show him her naked body.
You turn me on!!! With Erin, the compliments never rained but poured. Yet you could tell he was so very sincere. Not like other men, who hurled such praises around like verbal sacks of trash, while pawing all over her like some horny teen octopus. But, like Erin’s constant downpour of compliments, Kate now braced herself for the heavy rains which were also immediately in the offing, feeling a few icy drops splash off her already chilled arm. She did not, however, dare contemplate opening her umbrella, knowing instinctively that the merciless winds would merely turn it inside out.
As it was, the corner of Washington and Mason seemed overrun with a mist that had been rising from the bay all day long, patiently biding it’s time until the high spirited winds could spit it off of peoples faces.
Kate therefore kept her face down, glancing upward only fleetingly every so often in the hopes of spotting an approaching cable car that could whisk her to her date with her beloved Erin. Erin! With always a kind word to say! Always brandishing encouragement while ‘ahhing’ and ‘ooing’ over what he considered to be her “many impressive talents.”
She looked southward, wondering why no such ride was forthcoming, only to groan disappointedly at the sight of an abandoned cable car, no longer strutting its stuff at the usual fifteen miles per hour. It had instead succumbed to heady winds, which momentarily reached near hurricane force just long enough to pry it form it’s track, leaving it stranded at the bottom of one of San Francisco’s most famous roller coaster streets.
She sighed afresh at the facts of life. If she were having problems getting to him, then he was likewise having problems getting to her, and no amount of wishful thinking was going to make it otherwise.
She had spent her entire life in San Francisco, while he had lived there for a mere seven days. She had often met exciting hot guys by being a tour guide, and could occasionally even find one that tickled her vampy fancy. But Erin had proved to be so much more, having ignited in her the flames of unfettered love, a stunning sensation which was not only new to her, but also uncomfortably pleasant.
Regardless of the damnable weather, her body had already promised itself a sexual feast, with Erin’s sinewy chest, rounded bum cheeks and stunning abs as the main course. For desert, she had scheduled the unveiling of the massive tell tale bulge, forever present in his pants. She would undoubtedly tease such a bulge into solid iron with a prancing, naked display of wind and grind, followed up with sucking lips, scraping teeth and a skilful tongue that would ensure the blood kept flowing to his giant erection all night long. Such blood could then be slowly and painlessly siphoned off by tiny pin sized protrusions along the edge of her parched and thirsty tongue.
Her need for blood, love and sex now reached an irrevocable crescendo that was unbearably far to strong to deny. She tried to focus and reach him with her weary, hungry mind. If you can’t drive Erin, take the bus! If you can’t walk, crawl! If you can’t crawl, leap off the damn Golden Gate bridge and land in my lap! But just come to me! I need you! And I will find you…

Evangeline says: July 5, 2010 at 2:05 am

Vivie Ulysse-Charles laughed at the tales Mama Titi used to whisper to her at night. Only the old ones, the unsophisticated, and the poor, believed in the loup-garou, that half-man half-beast whose sharp, shiny white teeth gobbled unsuspecting babies and women. Yet under the full moon of the third night of Carnival, she found it was quite easy to let her imagination ride with the rush and whoosh of the colorful crowd thronging Port-au-Prince’s streets.

The Carnival celebrations of Haiti’s elite were held not under the stars, but under the genteel and correct electric lamps and rococo dada, and the ball hosted by Monsieur and Madame Ulysse-Charles was the most coveted event of the Season. Unfortunately for Monsieur and Madame, they had not a daughter to show off, as Vivie, though beautiful and stuffed to the brim with all the social graces, was lame.

Vivie sat in a gilt-backed chair half-hidden from the swirling dancers, fortified with a glass of watered sherry and a small, stiff smile. Her lameness never bothered her except during balls, where she hadn’t even the ability to tap her feet (at least wallflowers could do that!), and any eligible young men who wished to speak with her soon grew bored with a young woman who didn’t ride, dance, pay calls, or anything of the activities other girls flung themselves into. And so Vivie was forced to nod blankly at their pleasantries, barred by her mother from betraying a hint of her library-born education.

The orchestra moved into a Hungarian valse, which she hummed along with and watched new partners move onto the dance floor. There went her mother in burnished green silk, laughing gaily at whatever the broad-shouldered young man in uniform whispered in her ear as he led her into the waltz. Across the room, Tante Louise sipped champagne with her step-father, utterly engrossed in his conversation. A few cousins and second cousins dotted the crowd, as did longtime family friends. Vivie did not pity herself, but she grew angry that not one member of her family thought to speak with her, or fetch her a cooling drink that wasn’t watered. The smile she pasted on her face threatened to shatter as did the glass she held in her hand. She was supposed to be gracious and pleasant simply because she could not walk when there were times when she wanted to scream, and pout, and throw things about the room.

The sudden movement of the gentleman who’d had his back to her then entire night caught her eye and she clutched her throat, wondering if she had given way to impulse and screamed. When their gazes collided, she clutched her throat tighter. Under his piercing silver-green stare she shivered despite the warmth of her step-father’s ballroom and her delicate wrap, and then flushed with the feeling that he could toss aside every layer of blue satin, Valenciennes lace, whalebone, and linen on her body with one glance. Vivie lowered her glance and held her fan before her face, hoping she looked demure and scandalized, all the while her heart tha-thumped in her chest.

He bored the stamp of his strangeness in his clothing, which was impeccably tailored but lacked close-fitting Parisian-cut favored by Haitian gentlemen, and in his stance: bold, broad-shouldered, and arrogant. The type of gentleman who arrived on a semi-regular basis from the United States or England to tell the small nation of Haiti what to do and how to do it. And yet…she could not put her finger on why he seemed apart from the cluster of men with whom he conversed. It was more than his clothing or his demeanor; the look he gave her spoke volumes, of…”otherness.”

This flash of intuitiveness startled her and Vivie fluttered her fan more rapidly, hoping to wave away any hint of the “gift” Mama Titi pushed on her. To her horror, however, the strange gentleman had caught her step-father, and both made their way in her direction. He was even more strange and handsome up close, all sharp angles and sepia skin, and his silver-green eyes took on an eerie cast as he stared at her over her uplifted hand.

“Vivie, cherie,” Her step-father clasped her shoulder in false bonhomie. “permit me to introduce you to Monsieur Valerian Stratfield. An American visiting the consul this winter.”

“My pleasure, Mademoiselle.” His French was impeccable, with the slightest hint of an American accent.

“I cannot dance,” she blurted, half-furious with her body and half-furious with this stranger for not knowing.

He merely lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you might like a turn in the gardens. Your chair has wheels does it not?”

Vivie flushed furiously, so embarrassed she did not feel her step-father pinch her arm in rebuke. “I-I beg your pardon. Yes, my chair has wheels.”

“If you would extend your permission, Monsieur Ulysse-Charles…?” Stratfield’s request was firm.

Her step-father relinquished her arm and gestured for the American to take charge of her. He would be delighted to be rid of this lame daughter of his beautiful and able-bodied wife no matter if he tossed her to the wolves (Vivie was unaware of how apt this expression was). And so she sat stiffly in her wheeled chair as Monsieur Stratfield pushed her out of the ballroom, through the vestibule, and out into the winter garden. The air snapped with late winter cold, and she pulled her wrap closely around her body.

“There is a gazebo just beyond the orange tree.” She directed, wanting to take command of this situation.

Monsieur Stratfield obliged her words and pushed her chair towards the gazebo. It was simple and sturdy, a narrow plank allowing him to wheel her up and into the wooden garden structure. She felt, rather than saw him move to sit beside her on the bench, for the night seemed to have grown darker, the stars twinkling above her head when they first entered the garden suddenly obliterated.

“It’s rather dark,” she commented nervously.

“Is it? I can see you as though it were day.” He purred in her ear.

She jumped, realizing his mouth was at her cheek, his breath warm against her skin. This frightened her more than any darkness and she turned, hands up to push him away. She stopped when her hands pressed against his rock-hard body.

“You’re a werewolf!”

His warmth suddenly disappeared. In the faint light now streaming into the gazebo, she could see him staring warily at her near its entrance.

“What…How did you…of course I’m not a werewolf.” He finally gathered himself.

“You are,” Vivie said emphatically.

“All right, and if I am a werewolf, how did you discover this?”

“I know.”

“You what?”

“I know.” She repeated, this time touching her temples.

Vivie immediately regretted revealing her secret when Monsieur Stratfield’s teeth gleamed in the night. He prowled towards her with the grace of the loup-garou she accused him of being and stopped before her. His hands came down on her arms like a vise, pushing and holding her against the back of the chair as his teeth grazed the delicate skin of her throat.

“Then you must be the petite mademoiselle I was sent to find.”

Bronwyn says: July 2, 2010 at 9:19 am

Okay, I kinda suck at paranormal and I can’t write vampires to save my life but here goes…

Sarah rubbed her eyes again. She hoped if she pressed a little harder this time there might be a reset button on her brain she could trigger. The scene playing out before her belonged in some bizarre teen movie rather than her bedroom.
Her boyfriend of two years stood at the end of her bed in all his naked glory facing off against the man who’d broken the door down only seconds before. Only this guy didn’t look much like a typical man. He had shoulders that were at least a meter wide and fists that could pound a person through the floor Wiley Coyote styles. She wanted to tell Nathan to back the hell up but she was supposed to be frightened. Any normal woman would be.
“I’ve called the cops,” Nathan said, his fingers curling into his palms on either side of his backside.
The large man just laughed and peeked around Nathan’s bare shoulders. “Is this dude for real?”
Sarah shrugged. There was nothing Hammer could do to her and she was pretty sure she could stop him from pulverizing her man to dust. Pretty sure.
“Leave now,” Nathan said, taking a step forward. She always knew he had balls of steel but this put new meaning to the phrase.
Hammer shook his head in disbelief. “Sarah, you have to come with me. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she replied with a shake of her long blond hair.
“You don’t have a choice. If you don’t come back this time, he’s coming to get you.”
Nathan didn’t turn his back on Hammer but she could see the tense line of his shoulders tighten a fraction more. “Sarah, do you know this guy?”
She hesitated. The truth was totally overrated. No, she couldn’t start with that. Here’s the thing? No, she doubted that would work either. While she discarded suitable excuses, Hammer took a step towards Nathan, his eyes glowing an unnatural red, a malicious grin on his lips.
“Want me to throw out the trash?” Hammer asked with a chuckle.
Sarah leaped from the bed. “Don’t you dare. He didn’t do anything wrong. He has nothing to do with any of this.”
“Don’t get any closer, Sarah, you have no idea who you’re facing.” But it was Nathan himself who had no idea.
Just as she opened her mouth to tell Hammer to go back to hell, Nathan shivered in the pale dawn light, his back muscles rippling like the surface of a pond after you threw a boulder in it. Something white flashed on the edges of her vision but then whatever it was caught the side of her cheek and she was knocked to the ground.
As she fought to untangle her legs, she could see Hammer’s feet brace and knew he was going to wield one of his might ham hocks at Nathan’s head. She also knew the contact would kill him and she couldn’t let an innocent man die just because she had father issues.
“Nathan, get down!” she screamed. Back on her knees, she looked over the bed just as there was a mighty thud that shook the floor. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall on the mattress and did something she never did. She prayed. She loved Nathan and she hadn’t ever wanted him to get hurt. She prayed God would take him, look after him.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder and she was about to shrug away from it when she realized it wasn’t a huge awkward sausage fingered hand and it didn’t burn with the intense heat of Hell. Her eyes snapped open and she lifted her head so fast she almost got whiplash.
A half a second later, she wished she was the one out cold on the floor. Nathan was still standing. Well, hovering. Coming out of his back were two wings. White, fluffy, feathery, massive. The wingspan had to be a good three meters, almost touching opposite walls.
“Holy shit,” Sarah breathed.
Nathan’s angry glare kept switching back and forth from her to the giant on the floor. “Want to tell me why a demon would be breaking your door down in the middle of the night?”
“Uh… Um…”
He shook his head and the motion sent a flutter through his wings. They really were amazing.
“Do you want to start with something a little simpler?” he asked, his tone heavily laced with sarcasm.
Sarah nodded.
“Who the hell is coming to get you? Is he worse than this guy?”
She nodded again.
Nathan lifted a brow and waited.
“My dad is coming to get me,” she finally confessed. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him. Like how she hadn’t known he was an angel. More importantly how he hadn’t known her identity and it was very clear from his confusion that he still had no idea. But she bit her tongue instead. This was not going to end well for either of them.
“Who is your dad, Sarah?”
She stared down at the diamond on her left hand. “Well, he usually goes by The Devil but I think under the circumstances you can call him Lucifer.”