Raphael, or as he was currently known, Raph Masters, stared out through the lodge window at the snow covered peaks sparkling under the moonlight. His thoughts far away from where he stood. Their focus? A fair haired, blue eyed female by the name of Miranda Dove. The first time he had seen her he’d known she was the part of his soul he had been searching for. Her light would stop him falling into the dark, condemning him to an eternity deprived of that which his kind needed. Unfortunately for him she was completely oblivious to that which made his situation more difficult than it already was.
Needing to clear his head he walked into the small hallway, removing his shirt and shoes before opening the front door and stepping out into the freezing night. His exhales of breath visible in the air he stood unphased by both the freezing temperatures and the light flakes of falling snow. Walking a few feet away from the lodge he stopped and waited.
Imperceptible at first the air began to shimmer around him as his back rippled, the change suddenly growing in intensity as two large wings exploded outwards, stretching out as far as they could as if relishing the freedom they now had. Moonlight danced across the feathers, the slightest movement making them shimmer in the light – well most of them. The translucent ones were a stark contrast to the white. The intruders were a reminder of his beginning decent into the dark, and at the rate they were starting to appear, Raph figured he only had just over three days before the last feather faded and his light was extinguished forever.
Turning his gaze towards the sky he looked at the twinkling dots of light, each struggling to cast its glow on the world. How much longer would he be able to soar upwards, to see their beauty up close? How many hours were left before the blessing of flight was stripped away, leaving him locked into a world which was alien to him. His only hope, his only salvation was a female who had no clue as to his true nature, and to save himself he had to bare that secret and pray she accepted his words as the truth they were.
“Not tonight,” he whispered as he flexed his wings and soared skywards. Tonight was for reveling in what he was and what he could do – while he was still able.
~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~
Miranda stood by the window of her lodge, a steaming cup of hot chocolate held in her hands to chase away the cold of the night. Her decision to take the vacation had come out of nowhere, a sudden impulse she couldn’t fight which was unlike her. She was always the one to weigh up the pros and cons of any situation, never leaping in to anything feet first. Caution, that was her watch word. Well it had been until the day she’d started walking past the travel agents and a picture caught her eye. Before she knew it she had gone inside, booked the vacation, and walked out with the tickets and itinerary in her hands.
A sip of her rapidly cooling drink taken, she moved away from the window and over to the high backed chair by the burning fire. If there was anything good that had come out of her crazy decision, it was meeting Raph Masters. Black shoulder length hair, gun metal gray eyes set in a face male models would kill for, and a body women would lust and drool over. She had first seen him sitting in one of the outdoor hot baths; his broad shoulders and muscular chest had quite a few of the females visiting them ogling him, and as much as she was ashamed to admit it she had been one of them. Her mind began wondering what had laid hidden beneath the bubbling, steaming water. Just the memory of that had her body waking up and paying attention. “I’m not here on a man hunt,” she chastised herself. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t paying any attention to her words.
Placing her cup on the small table to her side, Miranda let the heat from the fire seep into her body to chase the chill away. Slowly she relaxed allowing sleep to creep up on her. Cushion behind her back shifted so she could rest her head on it, she turned slightly onto her right side and drifted off.
The first rays of sunlight breaking through the cloud cover warned Raphael of the approaching dawn. It also told him it was time to return to earth and resume his pursuit of Miranda. Three days left in which to not only convince her to bind herself to him for eternity, but to get her to accept that not only did angels exist, but that he was one. “That’s going to be so easy,” he muttered, sarcasm lacing his words as his feet touched the snow covered ground. As his wings disappeared from view he walked back to his lodge, the sound of the layer of freshly fallen snow crunching under his bare feet echoing into the air.
Pushing the pine door open as he reached it he walked inside, the heat from the still burning fire hitting him. A sharp contrast to the cold that had wrapped around his bare torso as he’d soared through the night sky. He’d taken his wings for granted, assumed they’d always be a part of him. Never in his darkest nightmares could he have contemplated the possibility of not only losing the ability to fly, but also losing the light. You knew this day would come. Yes, he had. All of his kind had to find the other half of their soul. That was something they couldn’t escape or avoid. What he’d hoped for was more time before his wings began their change. Unfortunately his time had vanished before he’d realized, leaving him to find his soul mate, convince her of what he was, and to spend eternity with him all in the space of seventy two short hours. “I’m fucked,” he grunted as he sat down.
“Maybe you are, and maybe you aren’t,” called a familiar voice from behind him.
Launching from his chair, Raphael spun around to face the voice’s owner. “Zarall? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, brother,” Zarall chuckled before walking to stand with his back to the fire, rubbing his hands on his ass to warm it up. “What is with you and bloody cold climates? Why couldn’t you have picked some place like Bermuda?”
“I happen to like the cold,” Raphael mumbled. “Besides, this time I have more than that reason to be here.”
“I know. She’s here, isn’t she.”
“Why haven’t you claimed her yet?”
“Because it’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is,” Zarall replied, turning to warm his front. “Just go down, tell her what she is to you, what you are, and claim her.”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his brother, Raphael crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at him. “Human females are different. Do you recall what happened when Camael went down that route?”
“Yes,” came the answer as Zarall turned to face him. “She fled, leaving him to descend into the darkness. Last I heard he was working as a hunter for some demon.”
“That is not a path I intend to walk; therefore, I’m taking it slowly.”
“Slowly? For fuck’s sake my brother, you have seventy two hours left. You can’t afford to take it bloody slow!”
He knew that. He didn’t need a reminder of how dicey his position was. “Tell me then,” he asked, uncrossing his arms as he stepped up to his angelic brother. “What the hell do you propose I do? Well, apart from your previous suggestion.”
“The time you have left isn’t long, which is why I think my original idea is best. But,” Zarall said, raising a hand to stop any argument Raphael may put forward, “with reservations I accept what you have said. Therefore, we need to put our heads together and come up with a sure fired, guaranteed to work plan.”
Raphael shook his head as Zarall moved away from the fire and towards the kitchen. Something told him the next few hours were going to be nothing if not interesting.
~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~
A shiver ran through Miranda as she woke. Her body letting its objections about moving be known as she shifted her position on the chair. Seemed the warmth from the now out fire had been enough to make her sleep soundly. “I’m so going to pay for this,” she huffed, getting to her feet to head into the kitchen for some breakfast.
As she stood waiting for her eggs and bacon to cook, Miranda stared out through the small window. At some point during the night snow had fallen, wiping away any trace of her footsteps. Her unblemished surroundings reminding her just how isolated the lodge was, and she loved it. Her work in a busy office had a tendency to overwhelm her with the noise and hustle and bustle everyday brought with it. Silence was hard to find in the middle of New York City, but the South Tyrol provided her with the peace she wanted.
Once breakfast was done she was tempted to visit one of the villages not far from her location, but the pull of the mountains was just too strong to ignore. So a walk through the snow with only her thoughts for company was chosen. “Breakfast and coffee first though,” she nodded, plating up her food and pouring a coffee before sitting at the small table.
An hour later everything was washed up and put away and she stood in the hall, jeans tucked into her snow boots, jumper and gloves on, and coat taken from the wall hook. “Time to hit the cold,” she smiled, slipping the coat on and zipping it up before stepping outside to sink ankle deep into the fresh snow. It took her a while to find her rhythm but once she did Miranda lost herself in the beauty of the scenery around her. No noise, no people pushing and shoving, no nothing. The only sounds heard were her breathing and the crunch of snow as she continued forward. For two hours she walked before reluctantly starting back towards her lodge to try and warm up her numb extremities. Half way back and with her concentration not where it should be she tripped over something, falling flat on her face and wrenching her ankle as she hit the snow. “Only I could trip over snow,” she grumbled, struggling to get upright. The second she tried to put weight on the damaged ankle, Miranda discovered a big problem – it wasn’t going to co-operate. To make matters worse her lodge wasn’t even in sight. The prospect of turning into a frozen, permanent part of the landscape really wasn’t appealing. If she couldn’t make it back though, that was the fate she faced. “Where’s Santa and his sleigh when you really need them?” Teeth gritted against the pain she knew was coming, she hobbled three steps forward before her ankle gave out again, sending a spike of pain shooting up her leg as she tumbled forward into the snow. Panic now taking hold she turned onto her back, looked towards the sky and started yelling for help, knowing it was going to take a miracle for someone to hear her, let alone find her.
Two hours of listening to Zarall had been all Raphael managed to take before grabbing his jacket and leaving the lodge. He didn’t need to be told over and over again how desperate the situation was. He knew and no amount of talking or chiding was going to change his looming future. What he needed was a miracle, and those were in short supply. “How in the hell am I going to approach her?” he asked the air, receiving an unexpected answer a few seconds later as he heard someone yelling for help. Never one to turn his back on someone in distress, Raphael nonetheless resisted the urge to summon his wings to fly directly to where the person yelling, was. Instead he tapped into his powers, harnessing their strength to give him the speed he needed to get to the area fast.
The moment he arrived and caught sight of the source of the yelling, he didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried. Seemed the miracle he’d thought wouldn’t happen, had, and his soul mate lay on the snow a few feet from him. “What happened?” he asked, walking closer.
“Seems I’m the only person on the planet who can trip over snow,” came a frustrated reply.
“I doubt that,” Raphael replied, resisting the urge to laugh at her comment. “Can you stand at all?”
“Stand, yes. Walk, no. I’ve done a number on my ankle and it’s decided not to co-operate on the walking front.”
“Best not to try then,” he replied. Crouching down he carefully picked her up, making sure she was secure in his arms before standing. The moment she moved and came into contact with his chest, he felt a part of him shift. It was like his soul wanted to leave him to join with hers.
“This is so embarrassing,” he heard her mumble, pulling him away from his confusing thought.
“We all fall over at some point,” he replied in an effort to try and make her feel better as he turned around.
“Have you tripped over snow?”
“Ummm, no I haven’t”
“See that just proves I’m a klutz. By the way, where are we going?”
“My lodge isn’t far from here. Once you are resting I can check your ankle.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Trust me, you aren’t.”
Gods, could the situation be any more embarrassing? The male her body went gooey over had to be the one who found her. Yep, her luck just kept getting better. Maybe she should wear a sign saying something along the lines of “walking disaster.” At least that way people would have a general idea of what to expect from her.
“We’ve arrived,” said a voice which sent certain parts of her body into party mode. “Please behave,” she mumbled low.
“Did you say something?”
“Me? No, nothing at all,” she replied, struggling to get out of his arms. A move soon regretted as her feet hit the floor and her ankle gave out sending her crashing to the ground. Turning her head to look at her rescuer, Miranda gave him a wry smile. “Just point me to a chair and I’ll crawl over.”
“No you won’t.”
Before she could protest she found herself held in those strong arms again, her body more than thrilled at the closeness. This was all kinds of wrong, but given her situation there was nothing she could do to extricate herself from it. Placed gently down onto a chair by a fire, she watched him as he carefully lifted her leg onto a foot stool before removing the boot to examine her ankle.
“There’s some swelling there, so I’ll grab an ice pack and put it on. Before you ask I doubt you will be able to walk on that for a while, so it seems you are stuck with my company.”
Stuck? That wasn’t the word she’d have chosen. Enjoy would have been better. “I’m sorry to have put you out.”
“You haven’t. Now just relax and I’ll sort out that ice pack for you.”
Watching him leave it took all her strength not to drool over his firm ass which was hugged by tight jeans. Gods what a beautiful sight. For a moment she wanted to see if a quarter could be bounced off it. The second the thought registered she let out a low groan. Her libido was going to be the death of her, she was sure of it.
The sounds of a conversation taking place in the kitchen reached her, thankfully shifting her mind away from ever more licentious thoughts. It was a good job as well because she was worried she might spontaneously combust if she got much hotter.
“This should help,” she heard him say as he returned, ice pack in hand.
Ice pack? Oh yes, bad ankle. Shaking her head, Miranda smiled at him. “Sorry if I’ve interrupted something.”
“I heard you talking to someone in the kitchen.”
“Oh. I was on my phone talking to a friend.”
Gaze narrowing as he placed the ice pack on her ankle, she wondered if he was telling the truth because the phone service tended to be spotty where they were. Maybe he made a connection at the right time. True. She had no clue as to why she’d doubted him. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Mr. Masters.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I ummm, may have seen you at one of the outdoor hot baths and heard someone say your name.”
“Ah. Well I have a confession to make,” Raphael smiled. “I know yours as well, Miss Miranda Dove. I saw you watching me and asked around for your name.”
The embarrassment she’d felt at more or less admitting ogling him vanished on hearing his confession.
“Is the ice pack helping?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. Let me grab a couple of cups of hot chocolate then we can relax.”
With her body doing the internal mambo and her mind creating its own version of the kama sutra, there was no way she would be able to relax. And that was going to make for a long afternoon and an even longer night.
Hands braced against the sink as he rested back against it, Raphael let out a long breath. Zarall had left after being told what had happened, but said he’d return later for a progress report. What the hell did his brother expect him to achieve in a few short hours? He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject he had to. How did one start a conversation which was going to change Miranda’s life forever? “Here’s your hot chocolate. Oh by the way I’m an angel, you are my soul mate destined to save me, so let’s get to it.” Oh yeah, that would work real well – not. Tapping his fingers along the edge of the sink he struggled to come up with a way of at least starting a conversation which would lead down the right path. “Maybe I need to just wing it,” he shrugged, the irony of the words not being lost on him. Pushing away from the sink he made two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “Guess I’d better make a start,” he sighed, picking up the mugs and walking back into the main room.
“Here you go,” he said as he handed over a mug. “Be careful it’s still on the hot side.”
Their fingers touched, sending a fire coursing through him which threatened to explode outwards. Struggling to regain his composure Raphael sat opposite Miranda, watching as she blew across the top of her mug to cool the hot chocolate. The small o her lips formed making him wonder what they tasted like, what they would feel like when pressed against his skin. “Get back on track you idiot,” he grumbled.
“Nothing. So, Miranda, how long are you here for?”
“This is the second week of my vacation. Seven days left and then I have to return to my job in New York City.”
“I gather from your tone you don’t want to.”
“Not really. I don’t think I’m cut out for the rat race.”
“Ever considered a change of career?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink.
“Sometimes. To be honest there are times I just want to leave everything behind, go somewhere no one knows me to start fresh.”
What he was going to ask her to do would certainly fulfil that desire. “I think that will happen for you soon.”
“It would be nice. Until it does I intend to enjoy the rest of my holiday.”
Tell her what you are. No, now wasn’t the time. When will be? The clock is ticking you know. He did bloody well know! With his frustration building he knew he had to get outside, take to the skies. “Get some rest,” he said placing his half finished hot chocolate down on the side table. “I need to head outside to check on the log supplies.”
“Rest does sound pretty good,” a sleepy sounding voice murmured.
Getting up he took the mug from her hands, placing it next to his before heading into the bedroom to get a blanket to cover her legs with. Once sure she was asleep he slipped his shirt and boots off then walked outside. Even though it was still daylight the area was secluded enough for him to risk taking to the air. Wings set free from their confines he brought them forward to see how many more feathers had faded, noticing to his dismay that over a third on each wing were now translucent. There was no point in dwelling on the changes, he needed to clear his mind enough to speak with Miranda about what he was. Wings stretched out to his sides he leapt into the air, letting them take over as he soared upwards.
~ * ~
The sound of a door clicking closed roused Miranda from the sleep taking hold of her. Looking around she wondered where Raph had gone before remembering he’d said something about checking the logs outside. Shifting her position to move the ice pack, she carefully stood. The moment her damaged ankle took some weight it threatened to go out from under her again. Unfortunately, her bladder decided its need was greater than a damaged ankle, so she hopped from the main room in search of the bathroom, finding it before her lack of exercise caught up with her.
Hopping back into the main room once she’d finished, she went over to a chair by the large glass doors which led out to a deck. As she sat down, Miranda glanced out through the glass and caught sight of something large wheeling through the sky. To her it looked too large to be a bird so what was it? Suddenly it vanished from view leaving her even more confused. If she didn’t know better she could swear her sanity was running away.
How long she continued to stare out the doors she had no clue, it was only when she heard Raph call her name that she dragged her focus from the blank sky. “I’m by the large doors.”
“You are supposed to be resting,” he said, a note of disapproval running through his words.
“I needed the bathroom, then when I came back I decided on a change of view. Tell me,” she asked. “Are there large birds around here, I mean really large ones?”
“Not that I’m aware of, why?”
“Because I saw something wheeling through the sky a while ago and to me it looked like no bird I’ve ever seen.” As she finished talking she caught sight of a strange expression on his face before he took a step back.
“Give me a moment.”
Before she could say anything, he walked away towards the hallway. What had she said that sparked such a strange reaction?
Tapping her fingers on the chair arms she continued to look in the direction he’d vanished to, seeing him reappear five minutes later holding a small box in his hands.
“Do you believe in angels?” he asked, sitting opposite her.
“I guess. Wait, you aren’t going to tell me that thing I saw in the sky was an angel?” The look on his face as she finished speaking had her wondering if she wasn’t the only one with vanishing sanity. “You are, aren’t you. That is crazy.”
“Why? Many things are taken on faith, so why can’t you accept that angels are real?”
“Because, well just because.”
“That’s not a strong argument you know,” Raph replied as he handed over the box he held.
Eyebrow arched as she opened it, Miranda saw a white feather tied with a red velvet bow. Carefully removing it from the box which she placed to one side, she looked at it. No matter which way she moved the long feather, rainbows seemed to dance across the whiteness. Curious, she shifted her attention back to Raph. “What is this for?”
“What you hold is a feather taken from the wing of an angel.”
About to burst out laughing she stopped herself on catching sight of the sincerity of his words shining in his eyes. “You believe that, don’t you? Why? How do you know it came from an angel?”
“Because I took it from my wing. I was what you saw flying through the sky. I am an angel, my name is Raphael, and you are the other half of my soul.”
“I’m…,” the sentence left unfinished as information overload fried her brain, dragging her into unconsciousness…
© Raven Anxo 2016.
For more from Raven…
Amazon links for A Thirst For Vengeance:
Here I sit on this Christmas Eve absorbing the joys of our room
I smile at the glistening tree, place down my mulled wine and take out her favourite perfume
She’s an angel to me and her smell is so sweet yet just one thing that I love so dearly
And the bottle I’ve bought is the biggest I could find to reflect my love so clearly
She’s taking a shower so I have time to wrap her gift as the stairs separate our existence
Now I take out the ribbon, such a rare and beautiful shade, I’m rewarded for my persistence
The ribbon’s too long but that shade of red screams out ‘I love you my darling at Christmas’
I trim the length carefully knowing the red ribbon is precisely fit for its purpose
I’m watching The Holiday, well it’s on the TV, I’m too captivated in my careful wrapping
Then suddenly a twinkling sound drowns out Cameron and Jude and I notice her phone vibrating
I retrieve the phone and become puzzled and disturbed as I don’t recognise the number or name
I answer but don’t speak and allow the unfamiliar voice to pour out his painful refrain
‘Hi honey, it’s arranged, this will be the best Christmas as we begin together our new life’
I hang up the line, my heart sinks like a stone, I can’t believe this of my beautiful wife
Dejected I look down and notice the ribbon which seems to be snaking towards me
A switch flicks in my brain while anger consumes me and stops me from acting rationally
I walk up the stairs, red ribbon in hand and head towards the sound of flowing water
My fears are confirmed as I spot the swollen suitcase and get an urge to slaughter
Amongst the smell of fresh musk, I enter like a ghost and hear her sing Last Christmas by Wham!
The steam begins to clear as I open the shower door and use the ribbon to end this sham
I move so swiftly as I pull the ribbon tight and her beautiful and naked form slides down soapy glass
And her final breath escapes as her betraying eyes stare, I’ve ensured this Christmas is her last
I take the ribbon once more and its silky touch inspires me to fulfil my act of revenge
I manoeuvre the ribbon to a position of irony and laugh at the message it will send
I return downstairs amidst the presents and cards and lift up my dead wife’s phone
I send a text to her lover, pretending to be her – ‘My darling, your present is waiting – tied in a big red bow.’
© Martin Tracey 2016.
Find more from Martin here:
I placed my love’s gift at the very base of the glittering tree that’d been covered in tinsel and baubles. It was perfect, and I’d made sure that it’d be the final one she would find on Christmas morning. The most special of all and saved for last. I’d taken care in wrapping it for her, closing the thick black paper in impeccable triangles at each end before I’d then finished it with the perfect accompaniment, grinning as I tied it with a red velvet bow.
Then, I crept back into the shadows and waited patiently for Christmas morning to arrive. I watched silently as she marvelled at her various gifts and celebrated the special day with her friends and family, but then…
“What’s this?” she asked, plucking my gift from its home, however her companions each shook their heads. A flicker of recognition contaminated her smile, but she refused to indulge in her fear. Oh, how foolish she was to think I wouldn’t strike on Christmas day of all days.
She opened it slowly and peered inside, and I knew what her eyes had laid upon. The black rose I had delivered was a sign. A promise. A symbol that her time on earth was over. I would give her one last day. A final twenty-four hours of life, but then she was mine.
“What is it, dear?” her mother asked, her brows furrowed tightly, but my love could not answer. She had made a deal of the darkest kind with me ten years before and I had come to insist she paid her debt. Like a thief in the night, someone had stolen her heart and broken it, so naturally she had sought vengeance. And I had, of course, delivered it. His soul was mine, but in return for my gracious gift, I had also demanded hers as payment, to be cashed in when a decade had passed. Ten years means nothing to a creature of darkness like me, but to my love it’d seemed like a lifetime away. Not now that she’d received my present. I’d told her how she belonged to me and I would come, marking my return with the gift of a black rose, and already I could see her mind working to rationalise what was in that box.
“Is this some kind of a joke?” she demanded, looking around at the others. Dumbfounded, they each shook their heads. My love then stormed away, my gift still grasped tightly to her bosom and I followed, gliding within the shadows alongside her.
I materialised right before her eyes and covered her mouth with my hand to stifle her screams.
“Did you think I wouldn’t collect on your debt?” I asked, but she was too shocked to respond. “My deals can never be forgotten or bargained out of, my love. I will return for you, body and soul.”
“Please,” she whimpered as I removed my hand, but rather than answer, I simply grinned. I summoned her mark—my mark—to appear on her right forearm and she peered down at it, rubbing her finger over the black inverted cross there. “This can’t be real…”
“Oh, it’s very real,” I replied before disappearing back into the shadows, leaving her shocked and screaming, tears falling down her beautiful face. They only served to make me want her more. To look forward to taking her with me down into the fiery depths of the underworld.
The next morning, I took my love’s life and forced her soul to accompany me to my personal dungeon, where I showed her everything there was to both love and loathe about me.
You might be wondering why I’m telling you my story? What I might possibly have to gain by revealing my vile intent and methods to you. It’s because I have another gift to deliver. One to someone forgetful and foolish, yet still a love of mine all the same.
I came one night while you were lost and alone. When you prayed for an answer, but were left only further doubting your faith when none came. That’s when I made you a deal, do you remember? When you said you’d do anything to feel happy. Sacrifice whatever it took to make it? That’s when you became my next love.
So here is my gift to you, made of black petals and thorns. It’s wrapped in black and tied with a red velvet bow.
See you tomorrow when the fun really will begin…
© Laura Morgan 2016.
About the author – Laura Morgan
“I’m a hopeless romantic with a dark side. Be warned, I may give my characters their Happily Ever After, but I make them work hard for it!”
Laura is a self-confessed computer and gadget geek. She’s always had a wild imagination and a sense of creativity that often runs away with her, engrossing her for days in many a story that haunts her thoughts until it eventually makes it to the page. An avid rock music fan, Laura spends much of her free time listening to music at home or going to concerts with friends, and this love of music often makes its way into her creative writing. Laura loves edgy, gritty books that strip your heart and soul bare and leave you with an epic book hangover at the end. That’s what she aims to do with her stories and thinks her readers agree! At times they’re dark and controversial, but that’s also what makes them unique.
Laura also has a YA science fiction series written under the pen name LC Morgans. It’s a story set a thousand years in the future, in which humans have used and abused the planet beyond repair to both the earth itself and to society. Close to cataclysm, an alien race called the Thrakorian’s step in to save the planet, and the humans, but at a price. The human race is then enslaved to their new masters, albeit willingly, and this is the story of a young girl and her journey into adulthood beneath their reign.
Laura loves hearing from her fans and you can connect with her via the following:
Welcome to my library
A special place
For each and every story
Is special to me
Come let me take you
On a journey
To wondrous, magical lands
Or let us explore
You deepest, darkest fears
Sit down my child
Close your eyes and let
Your mind conjure up images
As words fill your head
Feel your heart beat quicken
As the story
Takes a twist
Down the path of terror
Into the deepest mist
The cold seeping over flesh
Sinking into your bones
Flicker open, gasps fill the room
As the story comes to life
See my hand reach for you
As the room slowly fades
That had plagued your sleep
Appear before your eyes
Welcome to my library
A special place
For here you will remain
Trapped here with me.
© S.J Warner 2016.
(Picture sourced from Pinterest).
A broken mirror
Surrounded by shards
Droplets of blood
Lay on the ground
Seven years bad luck
Or so they say
To her it would mean
Just more of the same
Anger had bubbled
As she stared in the glass
Her true self on show
Until the glass smashed
Oh how she hated
Just what had been shown
The disgust she felt
Mental images left
By lovers of old
Others would say
She was beautiful
They did not see the scars
Not on show
As the blood ran
So did her tears
Soon she’d be free
From internal anguish
The mirror no longer
A vessel of torture
Now hundreds of shards
Reflecting the end.
© S.J Warner 2016.
(Picture from Pinterest).
Once I was whole
Vibrant and bright
Once did I dance
Beneath pale moonlight
Now I am tendrils
Wisps of smoke
No longer dancing
My emotions choked
My light has been stolen
Crushing my soul
Now I’m invisible
No longer whole
What could have happened
Not death, don’t you see
The world has created
This ghost of me.
© S.J Warner 2016
(Picture sourced from Pinterest)
A Visit From St Nick
By Kit Tinsley
‘Daddy?’ My son, Pete’s voice stirred me into consciousness.
I opened my eyes to see him stood next to the bed. His eyes heavy with interrupted sleep. His blonde hair is tussled from hours of tossing and turning. Four years old and perfect.
‘Come on.’ I said, motioning for him to get into bed with his mother and I.
Most nights he would join us at some point in the early hours. It surprised me he wasn’t wanting to go right downstairs. It was now Christmas morning after all, and a mountain of presents was awaiting him by the tree.
‘I think, our chimney’s blocked.’ He said. Anyone who has ever had a four year old will tell you that they can come out with the strangest things. This was a new one I thought, pulling him up into the bed.
‘What makes you think that?’ I asked.
‘Santa couldn’t get in.’ He said, starting to drift off to sleep in my arms. ‘I heard him break a window downstairs. ’
In an instant, I was alert and listening.
‘What’s wrong daddy?’ My son asked.
‘Nothing.’ I said in a soothing tone. ‘Go back to sleep.’
I looked over to my wife, Gloria. She was sound asleep.
I was trying to tell myself that he had been dreaming, or had not heard what he thought he had. I listened and heard the creek of someone coming up the stairs.
I shook Gloria until she woke.
‘What?’ She said, groggy and annoyed at the disturbance.
‘There’s someone in the house.’ I whispered.
I saw her eyes widen as the news brought her to the same state of wakefulness I was at.
‘A burglar?’ She asked.
I shrugged. I had no way of knowing what the intruders intentions were. However, in all the things playing in my mind, being robbed was the best case scenario.
She fumbled on her bedside table.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘Looking for the phone.’ She replied. ‘We should call the police. ’
I shook my head.
‘The phone is downstairs.’ I said. She had taken it down with her that morning, and neither of us had remembered to bring it back up.
‘Shit.’ She said. ‘What are we going to do? ’
I got up from the bed and crept to the door. Our son had left it ajar when he came in, and I peered through the crack. I saw a hunched shadow on the wall of the stairwell. A silhouette, illuminated by the multi-coloured hue of our Christmas lights.
‘He’s coming up the stairs.’ I whispered. ‘You stay here, I’ll have to deal with this. ’
I saw fear cross her eyes. She shook her head.
‘Please, Mark. Don’t go. ’
I could understand her fear. We had no idea who this intruder was, or what they wanted. They could be armed with God only knew what, while I was stood there in nothing but my lounge pants. I didn’t even have any shoes on.
‘I can’t do nothing.’ I said. ‘What if he’s here for you? Or him? ’
She looked down at Pete, who was now sleeping next to her. She looked back at me and nodded.
‘Be careful.’ She said.
I smiled and slipped out of the room.
They had made it so easy. A house this size with so little security. Not even an alarm. I guessed that burglars targeted them all the time. Yet, if the burglars had been successful I’m sure they would have some sort of alarm system.
As I checked the perimeter of the house, I thought maybe they had a dog, some big brute of a guard dog. Something like that and you don’t need an alarm. Nine out of ten burglars would leave it at the sight of a dog. I’m not nine out of ten burglars, hell I’m not even a burglar.
I broke a window round the back of the house. It was the side furthest away from the road. I was also assuming that the bedrooms were most likely at the front, for the view.
I waited before going into the house. Listening for any sound of movement. And hint that someone had heard me and was now coming to investigate.
It was all clear so I pulled myself up onto the window ledge and climbed into the house. I found myself in a large kitchen. You never know what you’re in for when you break into a home. Even one this size. A kitchen is a good room to begin in. It gives you a sense of the people who live there. For example, a tidy kitchen, without a dining table is a sign of a single man, or a couple without kids. A messy kitchen with a table is the sign of a larger family. A kitchen like this one. Ordered, but with a small table and kids drawings on the fridge. That is the sign of a professional couple with only one or two kids.
I always like to prepare before I head upstairs.
I placed my case on the kitchen table and opened it up. Inside was the selection of tools I had picked out for tonight. I left the gun in the bag. I didn’t like using guns. It wasn’t intimate enough for me. Shooting someone took away all pleasure from their death. I was cheating them, and cheating myself.
I took out the hunting knife my father had bought me all those years ago. It had a thick blade, slight curve at the tip, like a hook. One side was smooth and sharp. The other serrated for sawing through wood or bone.
It was this very knife I had used my first time. Despite all the other toys in my collection the hunting knife would always be my favourite. It always brought back that rush of nerves and excitement I had felt that first time, all those years ago.
With that decided, I pulled out the note. The calling card I left every year. The one the police were desperate to learn something from. Some hint to my identity. Of course, I gave them none.
It always made me smile when I read the note. My own little melodramatic twist of that old Clement Clarke Moore festive favourite.
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
For I slit all their throats and watched them bleed out. ’
The words scrawled in the craziest handwriting, I could muster. Red ink. The media wanted a monster. A twisted bogeyman that could sell their papers, or keep their ratings up. I was more than happy to play that part. They had dubbed me ‘St Nick’ after my choice of poem. I liked it.
I put the note down on the kitchen table. I always left the note downstairs. It could be too easy to lose or damage in the carnage that would occur upstairs.
With it neatly in place I headed for the stairs.
I crept across the landing. Keeping close to the wall. I hoped that the deep pile of the carpet muffled the sound of my movement. I just wanted to get to the other side of the stairs. I wanted to be in a position to surprise the intruder. For all I knew this was nothing more than a burglar. Someone who meant no more harm to me or my family than stealing our well insured possessions. Yet, it was Christmas Eve and that meant it could be him. The ‘St Nick’ killer. Every year for the last nine he had butchered a whole family in their home, on this night.
My heart raced as I got to the other side of the landing. I could see over the bannister. I saw the intruder mounting the steps. He stopped on each one to examine the family photo’s we had hanging on the wall. He extended his hand and I saw the blade of the knife glinting with the reflection of the Christmas lights. He traced the blade across the pictures.
It was him. It was St Nick. The sick son of a bitch was even wearing a red jacket hemmed with white fur. His hair was long and grey, and he had a bristly beard. He was trying to look like Santa Claus. Only a nightmarish version of that genial character.
He reached the top of the stair and I saw him begin to turn. He was about to look around and see me standing there watching him. I hadn’t thought to grab anything I could use as a weapon. I dropped to the floor. I peered around the corner and saw he was looking away from me again. He was looking in the direction of Pete’s bedroom.
When he had got up to come into our room, Pete had left his door open. The glow coming from his night light spilled out onto the landing. It drew the intruder towards it like a moth to a flame.
If Pete hadn’t have heard him, if he hadn’t come into our room, this monster would have gone for him first. He would have killed our son while we slept.
Paternal rage filled every fibre of my being. I looked behind me. On the windowsill was a large vase made of heavy pottery. I grabbed it and charged towards him.
I sat there on the bed listening intently after Mark left the room. One hand gently stroked Pete’s hair as he slept beside me. For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing. The only sound I could hear was my own heartbeat, thumping fast.
Why hadn’t I brought the phone upstairs with me? If I had been able to ring them when Mark woke me, the police would be here by now. It was Christmas Eve. They didn’t hesitate when it came to intruders on Christmas Eve, in case it was him. St Nick.
I thought about all the awful stories I had heard about the things he had done. He liked to make his victims suffer before he killed them. Torture and mutilation were what they said. This would be his tenth year and the police were no nearer to catching him than they were when it all began.
This wasn’t supposed to be our Christmas. We were meant to wake up tomorrow and see the joy on Pete’s face when he saw all the gifts that Santa had left for him. He had been so good this year. It had been difficult for him to control his problem. He had done so well. Mark and I had gone to town to spoil him this year and show him how proud we were of him.
Our parents were going to come over, and I was going to cook everyone the best goddamn Christmas dinner they’d ever had.
Now what was going to become of that?
I heard running across the landing. There was a roar of anger. It was Mark. Then all hell broke loose.
I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye as I stood in the child’s doorway. He was charging towards me holding something above his head. He screamed as I turned to face him. He was younger and quicker than me, but he was also half my size. He tried to bring the pot down on my head, but I turned away from the blow just in time. It hit my shoulder, hard. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it bounced off me and shattered against the wall. Seeing that his attack hadn’t worked the way he wanted to he began punching out at me. A couple connected with my face. Despite his rage though, this man was not a fighter. His soft businessman hands did little more than annoy me.
I reached out with my left arm and grabbed him by the throat. I lifted him from the ground. Pain shot through my shoulder, perhaps the blow had done more damage than I first thought. I swung him around and threw him against the wall.
He let out a grunt from the impact, which was fierce enough to dent the plasterboard. I kept hold of his throat but let him slide down until his feet were on the floor. I grinned at him.
‘Ho, ho, ho.’ I said as I thrust the hunting knife towards him.
He was a wiry bastard though. He slipped from my grip and side stepped the blade. It connected with the wall.
The man turned and ran towards the stairs.
I followed. Everyone in the house was probably awake by now. This year was going to be a fun game of hide and seek.
As he reached the top step I threw the knife. The hilt connected with the back of his head and sent him off balance I watched as he tumbled down the stairs. I thought to myself that he would be unconscious. That would give me time to gather up the other members of the family. This guy was tougher than he looked though. When he hit the floor at the bottom he pushed himself up on his hands and knees and looked up at me. He had a black eye and a bloody nose, but he smiled and got to his feet.
I was going to have to follow him downstairs and deal with him. I’d cut the phone line to the house, but if he got outside he could alert a neighbour. I wasn’t prepared to have my fun interrupted by the police. I began to descend the stairs.
One of them had fallen down the stairs. The other was following them down. I prayed that Mark was okay, but I had to do something. I remembered that I’d left my mobile phone in Pete’s room when I put him to bed. If I could get it, I could call for help.
I looked at Pete asleep on the bed. I couldn’t just leave him here defenceless on the bed. What if the intruder came and found him before I got back. I had to make him safe, without waking him up. If I was to wake him, he may panic and that could bring on another bout of his illness.
In a rush I gathered up the quilt and my pillow and put them inside my walk in wardrobe. I put them on the floor to make a comfy little bed for him. Then I carried Pete, still sleeping and rested him on top of it. I kissed his forehead as he murmured. Then I shut the door behind me.
Back in the bedroom, a searched for something I could use to protect myself. At first, I couldn’t think of anything. We tended not to keep sharp things accessible because of Pete was in to everything. Mark had a set of golf clubs, but they were in the garage.
Then I remembered that the leg on the stool of my dressing table was loose. It was a heavy piece of oak. I snapped the leg free. A nail poked out of it. This gave me extra reassurance. I opened the door. There was a sudden sound of a struggle downstairs.
I caught up with him at the front door. He had the phone in his hand jabbing the call button.
‘I cut the phone.’ I said.
He yelled in distress and threw the phone at me. I batted it away with ease. He turned and went for the door. I moved quickly and grabbed his head and rammed it into the door. Then I let him fall back to the floor. He hit it hard. The tough little guy was still conscious, though I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was dazed. I knelt down beside him.
‘So, I’ve been making my list.’ I said. ‘I’ve even checked it twice. Your name came up as naughty. ’
‘Fuck you.’ He said, spitting blood in my face.
‘You see, that’s the kind of language that gets you on the naughty list.’ I said. ‘Now you, and your wife and son are going to have to pay. ’
I grabbed hold of his hair and began dragging him back away from the door. He screamed and grabbed at my hand, but the blows to his head had taken most of the fight out of him. I dragged him from the hall, through the lounge and into the dining room. There I picked him up and set him down in a chair.
I pulled the roll of duct tape out of my coat pocket and began strapping him to the chair.
‘Look at it this way.’ I said. ‘you’re number ten. You’re going to be famous. ’
I laughed. He didn’t appear to share my good cheer.
‘Where’s your Christmas spirit? ’
He looked at me.
‘I’m going to watch you die. ’
I finished taping him to the chair. I knelt down in front of him.
‘No, you’re going to watch me disembowel your son, and flay your wife alive. Then I’m going to cut your eyes out and feed them to you. Then all you’ll have is the sound of their screams to try to guess what I’m doing to them next.’
He looked over my shoulder and smiled.
‘Not tonight.’ He said.
I felt a lightening jolt of pain explode across the side of my head and face. Everything went dark.
I ran from our room to Pete’s. I found my phone. I began to cry as I saw the battery was dead. I fell to my knees. It seemed like our fate had already been sealed. Like the universe had conspired on this most sacred of nights to end us.
I heard Mark screaming downstairs. I had to do something. I ran back to our room and opened up my wardrobe. Pete was still sound asleep. I closed the door gently on him once more and moved towards the stairs. The commotion had died down a little. Now I could hear a deep voice talking in the dining room. I crept along through the lounge and saw a giant of a man taping my, bloodied and beaten, husband to a chair. This man must have been at least six foot five tall and almost as wide. He had long, matted grey hair and a messy looking beard. He wore a red, suede coat trimmed with white fur. He looked like a monstrous Father Christmas.
‘No, you’re going to watch me disembowel your son, and flay your wife alive.’ He said. His voice was full of menace. ‘Then I’m going to cut your eyes out and feed them to you. Then all you’ll have is the sound of their screams to try to guess what I’m doing to them next. ’
I crept into the room behind him. I raised the broken stool leg like it was a baseball bat. Mark’s eyes met mine and I saw his look was telling me to do it.
‘Not tonight.’ Mark said to the man with a weary smile.
With all my strength I swung the heavy piece of oak. It connected with the side of the man’s head. The nail that had been poking out dug into the side of his skull. I felt the soft crunch as that side of his face caved in. The sound of his bones cracking was audible. He didn’t scream. He gave no sign of pain. Then he collapsed.
I dropped the stool leg and rushed over to Mark.
‘Is he dead?’ Mark asked. His voice was weak. It was clear he was in a lot of pain.
I began trying to get the tape off him to free him, but it was too strong.
‘I need to cut this.’ I said.
‘Is he dead?’ Mark repeated.
‘I don’t know.’ I said. ‘ I have to get the scissors, or a knife to cut this tape. I’ll grab the phone and call the police. ’
Mark shook his head.
‘He cut the phone line.’ He said.
‘Where’s your mobile?’ I asked.
‘In the car. ’
‘I’ll get the scissors and then we can get Pete and get to the car. ’
The man on the floor groaned. He was alive, and he was coming to.
‘Gloria.’ Mark said. ‘Get Pete, get out of the house. Get help. ’
I shook my head.
‘I’m not leaving you like that.’ I said.
‘You are. I’m not going anywhere. He’s going to come after you.’ He said.
The man began trying to get up. Each time he pushed himself up a little and then fell back down. His face was bleeding and starting to swell where I had hit him with the stool leg.
‘Gloria.’ Mark said. ‘Go! ’
With one almighty heave the man got to his knees.
He looked at me, his eyes piercing through his ruined face.
‘I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.’ He sang then laughed.
‘Go!’ Mark screamed at me. I turned and ran for the stairs.
I watched as my wife ran from the room. Then I turned to face St Nick.
‘That looks like it hurts.’ I said.
He shuffled across the floor and recovered his knife. He attempted to pull himself up to a standing position. Pulling himself up on a chair like a toddler. The first attempt failed and he fell back to his knees.
‘It stings.’ He said laughing. ‘But the things I’ll do to her are going to be so bad, the cops who find you are going to have nightmares about it for the rest of their lives. I swear to you she’s going to live long enough to feel every pain I can inflict on her. ’
Rage filled me again and I fought to free myself from the tape. It was pointless of course.
‘You touch her and I will tear your fucking heart out.’ I said.
He started pulling himself up again and this time some of his strength had returned. He got to his feet, but seemed unwilling to let go of the chair just yet.
‘I could kill you now.’ He said, ‘but, I want her to see you die. ’
He staggered away from the chair and went to the door.
‘Gloria, he’s coming!’ I yelled at the top of my lungs.
He turned around to me.
‘Don’t spoil the game buddy.’ He said and winked. Then he turned back around. ‘Ready or not here I come. ’
Then he was gone.
I ran as fast as I could to our bedroom. I shut the door behind me and heard Pete’s voice from the wardrobe.
‘Mummy? Daddy?’ He sounded scared.
I rushed and opened up the wardrobe door. He was rubbing his eyes and still half asleep. He looked confused.
‘Why I am I in the cupboard?’ He asked.
It was a reasonable question, after all he had fallen asleep on our bed and woken up on the floor of my wardrobe. I didn’t want to panic him. If he got himself worked up, there was no way of knowing what might happen.
‘We’re just playing a special Christmas game of hide and seek.’ I said comforting him.
‘Has Santa been yet?’
I shook my head.
‘No Santa has definitely not been yet.’ I said, thinking of the madman downstairs. ‘Come on let’s find somewhere good to hide. How about daddy’s car? ’
He nodded, still not totally with me
I heard Mark’s voice from downstairs.
‘Gloria! He’s coming!’ He screamed
A deeper, more booming voice followed.
‘Ready or not, here I come. ’
Pete looked confused, then wide awake. And full of wonder.
‘Is that Santa?’ He asked excited.
I shook my head.
‘It’s daddy being silly.’ I said.
I scooped Pete up into my arms and ran for the door. I could hear loud slow footfalls heading for the stairs. There was no way we could get down them without him catching us. I ran for the bathroom. I locked the door behind us. Not that I thought the little lock would stop that beast for more than a few seconds before he knocked the door down. I set Pete down on the toilet seat and rushed to the window. I knocked everything off the deep sill. Shampoo, razors and tooth brushes went crashing to the floor. I opened the window as far as it would go. I would be able to lower Pete down onto the garage roof, and then jump down myself. From there, I could smash the skylight and drop us down to the car. We kept the spare keys in a biscuit tin in the garage.
‘He’s making a list. He’s checking it twice.’ The man sang as he stomped up the stairs.
‘Mummy, I’m a bit scared.’ Pete said with tears in his eyes.
I went to him and smiled.
‘It’s just a game baby.’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s get to the car. ’
I picked him up and took him to the windowsill. I felt his little heart beating fast, and his temperature was rising up. This was not a good sign. He was heading for one of his episodes.
I lowered him down to the roof below. He dropped the last few feet and landed with a thud.
‘Are you okay baby?’ I called down.
‘Yeah.’ He said back to me.
‘He’s going to find out who’s naughty and nice.’ The man was at the top of the stairs. Heading straight towards us.
I jumped onto the sill and began trying to squeeze myself through the gap. I got my legs through, but then felt like I could not go any further.
‘Santa Claus is coming to town!’ He was outside the door.
I saw the handle turn and he realised the door was locked. There was a loud thud as he attempted to knock the door down. The first blow didn’t succeed in opening the door. I shimmied as hard as I could. At first, it felt like I was going nowhere.
A second, louder thud hit the door. It remained shut, but I could see that this time the lock had started to come loose. The next hit would open the door.
I thought all was lost, then, I moved just right and I slid out of the window and landed with a thump on the garage roof. Pete came running over to me and hugged me tight, I didn’t like how pale he looked.
There was a crashing noise from above and I looked up to find St Nick staring down at us furious.
’Santa?’ Pete said.
The killer tried pushing the window open further. He soon realised that there was no way he was following us out that way. He disappeared.
I walked over to the skylight. It was ajar, enough for me to pry it open and lower Pete down into the garage. I jumped down after him.
‘Was that Santa?’ He asked.
‘No Pete, it wasn’t Santa.’ I said. I rummaged around looking for the biscuit tin that contained the spare key. Where was that fucking biscuit tin?
‘It looked like Santa.’ He said. ‘Is he angry cos I’m not in bed? ’
Where was that fucking biscuit tin?
‘It wasn’t bloody Santa!’ I yelled. I didn’t want to. All the fear and emotion, and the frustration of not being able to find the tin came out in one sentence.
Pete stared at me with a look of shock and hurt. He started to scream. Then bolted for the door.
‘Daddy!’ He yelled as he ran out of the garage. I charged after him.
I heard the thudding upstairs. I heard the commotion in the garage and there was nothing I could do to help any of it. I struggled against the tape. I tried pushing the chair over to see if it would break. I was convinced I had seen people do that in movies. However, St Nick had secured me too well, I couldn’t get enough momentum to tip the chair. I wept in frustration. I heard the killer running down the stairs. He was tearing through the house trying to find a way into the garage.
I heard Pete screaming for me and feared the worst.
‘Pete!’ I yelled.
My son came running in. Something about the four year old mind meant that he didn’t even question why I was taped to the chair. He was more concerned with his own problem.
‘Mummy shouted at me!.’ He screamed. He was looking pale, and I could see he was soaked with sweat. He was verging on being hysterical. The shakes would start soon.
‘I’m sure mummy didn’t mean it.’ I said. ‘There’s a bad man in the house. Mummy is frightened. ’
With that Gloria came rushing into the room. She threw her arms around Pete and kissed his forehead.
‘I’m so sorry baby.’ She said.
I saw Pete’s eyelid start to twitch.
St Nick appeared in the door way
‘Merry Christmas fuckers!’ He yelled.
Pete looked at me.
‘Daddy, I think it’s going to happen again. ’
Gloria let go of him and stepped back.
‘It’s ok baby. You’ve been good all year. ’
Pete began to convulse and fell to the floor.
The kid hit the floor hard. He twitched around and a puddle of piss formed where he lay. At first, I thought he was having a seizure. That was ok. It gave me time to secure his bitch-whore mother. I wanted her to suffer worse than any of them before.
Sometimes I would spare the mothers the pain of seeing me cut their kids to pieces. Not tonight though, if she even tried to look away I was going to cut off her fucking eyelids.
The boy stopped twitching and his arms shot out in front of him. There was an audible snap as his bones came out of their sockets. I watched him, wondering what the hell was happening. He screamed in pain as his limbs appeared to lengthen. Blood erupted from his nail bed as long, black claws poked through.
‘What the fuck?’ I said, taking a step back.
The boy raised his head and his jaw broke and lunged forward. His face elongated into some sort of snout and thick black hair began to poke out of his pale skin.
The mother rushed to the father. She didn’t want to look. Neither did I. I wanted to run. This shit was way beyond anything I had ever seen before, but I was transfixed.
The boy’s teeth popped out one by one and scattered across the floor. Blood poured from his mouth as the teeth were replaced with vicious looking fangs. Pointed and curved, meant to kill and tear flesh like the hunting knife I held.
His eyes rolled up in his head. The pupils disappearing. When they popped back down they were no longer blue. They were amber and glowing like they were ablaze.
He charged at me. I tried to knock him away, but he was too strong. Those vicious jaws clamped around my throat and the teeth pierced my flesh.
Pain filled every fibre of my being. And as he ripped my throat out with his teeth my final thought was. I’m not really a monster after all.
© Kit Tinsley 2015.
Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/KitTinsley
Twitter – http://www.twitter.com/KitTinsley
And his books – http://www.smarturl.it/KitBooks
**** WARNING! ****
This book contains extreme BDSM, violence, graphic sexual situations, dark supernatural and paranormal scenes. This book is only for those aged 18+. It is for those with an open mind and for those who ARE NOT easily offended.
This Halloween there will be no treats, only tricks. Tricks on your blackened mind, that is.
Corrupted Desires is not the sort of book that will have you skipping amongst the daisies and leave you with that feel good feeling. This jaw dropping, dark erotic book will give you that prickly feeling on the back of your neck. It will send a chill right to your bones and it will most definitely mess with you head.
Allow these 9 authors to show you what their definition of corruption is, as they take you down an intensely dark path to the unknown and the unfamiliar on All Hallows’ Eve. Let them bring a whole new meaning to the words “bump in the night”
***Set to release October 13th***