Digital Digest

Daria's Dating Dilemma, Part Six

2011-12-27T02:00:00.000-08:00

Daria’s Dating Dilemma, Part Six

When we left Daria on November 26^th, she was sitting in the rain wondering if things would ever go right…

I sat in the rain until a passerby threw a dollar at me. Now I was reduced to looking like a street beggar. I stood quickly, hurling the wet wad at the person’s head, and shouting incoherently. Sure it made me look crazier, but I was irate. My phone was gone, my first good date was ruined, and now my lawyer friend probably thought I was a loser. What else could go wrong?

Deciding my pity party needed to be mobile, I started walking along the sidewalk. Home wasn’t a far and warm, clean clothes awaited me. Muttering to myself, I negotiated the streets and people racing out of the rain. The storm came harder and faster, soaking me to the skin in record time and setting me to shivering.

I stopped at the corner one block from home when a different large truck hit the puddle in front of me. I cried out as a deluge of muddy water and debris washed me onto my ass at the curb. The driver of the truck didn’t even slow down, the bastard. Wiping the water off my face, I shook my hands angrily and dug my purse out of the street. I was soaked and dirty, my purse was ruined—its contents probably destroyed as well—and it wasn’t even noon yet. My patience was stretched to the limit. The anger fueled my pace and I finished the trip in record time. Beat that Patrick Makau.

Digging my wet keys from the ruined clutch, I let myself in and stripped inside the door. I threw the clothes on the tile for washing or discarding—I hadn’t decided which. I carried my purse into the kitchen and dumped everything in the sink. I’d take care of it later. First, I wanted a hot shower and a pint of ice cream. And, yes, I’d call off work to spend a day shut in with emotional chick flicks, Ben, and Jerry.

Two days later and I’d replaced my phone, the contents of my purse, and was working on my pride. There were no messages from anyone on my new cell or my home phone. Queen of horror dates strikes again, I silently cheered watching the elevator tick off floors. I strode off intent on finding my cube and hiding inside until the clock struck five. I stopped short as the crowd around my workspace registered in my frazzled mind.

“Great, I’m probably being fired on top of things,” I mumbled and pushed my way past them.

My purse, work bag, and jaw hit the floor in surprise. There, on MY desk, were two enormous flower arrangements. Not the ‘cheap bought at a gas station’ kind, but the ‘in the vase and I paid a fortune for hand delivery’ kind. From my vantage point, I was sure at least one was authentic crystal. I stared frozen in place for at least ten minutes while my gossiping co-workers took in every nuance of my reaction. Great, I’d be the office tramp by lunch.

Ignoring them, I moved into my area and mentally slammed the door. Quickly, I grabbed the note cards from each bouquet and shoved them in my bag to read once the drama calmed down. I continued ignoring the questions and whispers while I logged into my workstation and reviewed the stack of messages from the receptionist. Apparently things had been busy while I’d been out on my day off.

As the clock chimed starting time, the boss cajoled everyone away to their own office pens before heading back to mine. “Daria, I sincerely hope these flowers are not the reason you were out sick yesterday?”

I merely looked up at her. My eyes were still red and puffy from a day of crying. I was also sure the end of my nose was dry and blotchy. I looked like I’d had the cold I lied about. “Of course not and I apologize I had to call off. I’m not sure where the flowers came from. Oh, and I’m feeling better now.” The ‘thanks for asking, bitch’ was silent.

The boss nodded and walked away as I breathed a sigh of relief. Pulling the cards free from my bag, I glanced at each quickly. The first was a typed message from Keith, presumably ordered while he was in Europe.

I tried calling but didn’t get an answer. Wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings and I look forward to talking when I return next week.

“Nice, thank you broken phone,” I sarcastically grumbled and grabbed for the other. It unexpectedly was from Marcus.

Sorry I missed you the other day. I was out grabbing breakfast. As your representation, I suggest discussing my fee over dinner. Please call to schedule a time.

I giggled, swallowing the full out laugh threatening to spill over. To anyone else, it would be a very professional note. Knowing Marcus as I did, it was full of humor and innuendo. It was just the thing to cheer me up. I jotted notes in my planner to attempt to call each after work.

The rest of work passed in a blur of activity. Not used to me taking a sick day, several clients had panicked when unable to reach me the day before. One in particular had left no less than twelve messages. Toward the end of the stack, the receptionist had stopped writing her number or message all together. It had also taken an hour to convince the woman I was not gravely ill or anywhere near death’s door. Ironically, the woman chastised me for not taking more time to myself after giving me a page long list of items to be taken care of.

Standing to grab my coat and debating picking up another pint of ice cream, I looked around my office floor and sighed. Some days, I really wanted to chew my way out of our gopher den. Hopefully, my good work would be noticed eventually and I could move up the food chain. I was currently lodged solidly in the bopped-on-the-head department. I chuckled as I pictured a rubber mallet striking each cranium that emerged over the partition walls.

Grinning still as I let myself into my home, the flashing message light caught my attention. I had three messages. It was an incredible occurrence, I usually managed one message a week and it was from my parents. Their message usually entailed making sure I was alive, highlighting other people’s successes, and not so casually asking if I’d made any progress in life. I dropped my bags into the chair and raced over to press the button.

I leaned on the counter as the messages played. The first was from Pat wanting to make sure I had survived okay. I could tell by the whispered tone, he was again hiding from his wife to call me. He quickly added he’d given Keith my home number before the call abruptly disconnected. The second message was from Marcus, wanting to know if I received his professional package and if I had any plans this evening. The third was from Keith, a little fuzzy because of the connection. I could barely make anything out —something about his meetings going well and such. I saved all three just as proof I could receive calls.

Grabbing the handset free, I called Marcus back and chatted while changing. The rustle of clothes must have transmitted over the line. He mentioned it with a joke of course and sent me into a fit of laughter.

“It’s so good to hear you laugh at the end of a long day, Daria.” Marcus’ voice drifted across the quiet and I was speechless. “So, what were you thinking for dinner?”

“Pizza and a movie,” I joked, tossing a shirt over my head and zipping up my jeans.

“Funny, that’s just what I was thinking.”

My response to his odd reply was cut off by the door bell ringing. He had already disconnected the call. Racing back to the front room, I threw open the door and stared at him. Marcus stood on my steps holding a pizza from the best pie shop in town and a six pack of beer.

I tried to lean casually against my door frame. “Funny, mister, I don’t remember ordering a pizza. I’m afraid I’m not going to pay you for the pie.”

He smiled wide, his perfect teeth showing. “That’s a shame, ma’am. I’m pretty sure there’s a copy of Shaun of the Dead in my jacket.”

“I own it,” I shrugged, holding back laughter.

He stepped closer. “I think the other pocket has Princess Bride and Hershey caramel Kisses,” he whispered.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” I moved out of the way and motioned him inside with a frenzied wave.

We both laughed as we moved toward the kitchen. He sat the goodies out on the counter while I wrangled up plates and glasses. Serving up the pizza, beer, and grabbing the bag of Kisses for later, I motioned him into my living room. My entertainment area wasn’t super high-tech but it was good quality. When you find yourself alone most Saturday nights, it pays to have a great home theatre set-up and forgiving neighbors.

We ate while watching Shaun of the Dead and quoting lines along with the movie. Once stuffed, I leaned into him while contemplating the bag of Kisses. His arm silently slipped around my shoulders and we sat in silence until the movie ended. He rose, brought out two more beers, and studied the DVD player.

“So, should I put in Princess Bride?” Marcus asked with a wink.

“Sure, why not?” I answered with a shrug.

“As you wish…”His smiled melted my heart faster than Kisses over an open flame.

My voice was huskier than I ever remembered hearing it before. “Come snuggle and keep me safe from the ROUS’s.” I patted the cushion next to me and eagerly cuddled into his body when he complied. I truly believe it’s the only occasion I didn’t pay any attention to my favorite movie.

Just when the action in my living room was about to surpass the action on the screen for the first time in recorded history, the phone rang interrupting the moment. I let the machine catch it, forgetting I had turned the volume up earlier. Keith’s voice echoed through my open downstairs floor plan.

“Should be home tomorrow, would love to see you again. You still owe me a coffee.”

Rule number nine: Expect the unexpected, otherwise known as 'unplug the phone with you have a date over' rule.

I blushed red hot as Marcus lowered my shirt and looked at me oddly. Hell, there went another good date. He’d probably storm out and never return. Worse, he’d probably send me a huge legal bill the next morning. I sat there like a moron waiting to hear the worst.

Marcus’ expression took on a sexy, dangerous look. “Well, I guess I have twenty four hours to make you hate the thought of coffee…”

Rule number ten: See rule number nine and…
Oh to hell with the rules…

Digital Digest is being changed to better serve our readers. But Daria’s mishaps and adventures are far from over! Watch for the full Daria novel to be available in 2012, with glimpses available on my blog and thank you for reading!

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Land of the Blind (Chapter 3)

2011-12-26T00:00:00.000-08:00

Recap: In Chapter 2, General Kober Chiang, the new commanding officer of the reconstituted Praetorians, activated his special plan to bring his beloved Federation back to the top of world affairs, while also destroying Devereaux Marshall Fox, once and for all.

* * * * * *
“Muchos gracias, Senorita,” Fox said as the comely brunette placed a tray of hot rolls before him.

“De nada, Senor,” the woman replied, her face blushing deeply

As she walked away to serve other customers in the small, but crowded restaurant, Fox closed his eyes and tried to absorb his surroundings. Immediately, the aroma of the crisp buttery rolls assaulted his olfactory senses. He could hear the clinking of forks and knives on porcelain plates. It seemed a thousand conversations filtered into his ears – wedding news, gossip, opinions, he took it all in. This was real life to him, much better than listening out for intruders and possible ambushes.

He opened his eyes again, glanced around the eatery and watched an ethnic montage of men and women chatting while they ate their organic food. He had eaten here many times before. He liked that there were still some places in the world where he could eat real food instead of RDA shakes, and not pay an arm and a leg to do it. He needed organic food, if only so the delicious smells could arouse memories of better times, of home-cooked meals or of easygoing dinners with convivial friends.

He knew Cali, Colombia wasn’t as exotic as Rio de Janeiro, Brazil or Montevideo, Uruguay, but it was quiet. Not as busy or as corrupt as the country’s capital, Bogota, it was now a center of technology and information. Despite this, the city had still maintained its character, its mellow tree-lined avenues and the ambience of a citizenry freed of the hectic life that dominated larger population centers.

It had been decades since the drug trade had died down here and around the world, thanks to a miracle drug that killed addiction and adverse reaction almost instantaneously. The criminal warlords and violent street gangs that had infected society and had once turned Cali into the cocaine cartel capital of the world died out along with the crippling addictions and associated brutality of illegal drug use. To this day, no one knew who had discovered and developed the wonder drug made from natural plants found in most of the world’s mountains. At the memory, Fox laughed to himself and took a big bite out of one of his buttery rolls.

None of this mattered now, though. Fox wasn’t here to interfere in anyone’s business or upset the status quo, if he could help it. He was just assessing the world situation, gathering information to make an accurate report for himself before he made his final departure. The rest of his time was meant to take in the sights, sounds and ultimate beauty of the planet and its people.

His waitress, Consuela, returned with a large tray. She carefully set a large plate of Brazilian steak and steamed broccoli before him. He inhaled deeply, letting the aroma of the broiled meat assail his senses. He liked nothing better than a well-cooked steak, no matter what the animal rights organizations felt about it.

“Excuse me, but I heard some congratulations for the couple in the corner by the front window,” Fox mentioned.

“Si, Senor, they are getting married,” Consuela answered, cocking her head in confusion that he could have discerned a conversation in the front of the restaurant from his table in the rear. “I did not think they were being so loud, Senor. I will ask them to be a little quieter.”

“People were speaking of it and it kind of came back to me,” Fox said, trying to cover the fact that his aural sensors had picked up the news. “Wish them every happiness, por favor.”

“Si, Senor, I will,” the comely waitress replied, happily. “She used to be my supervisor and he was her best customer. Oh, don’t they make a beautiful couple? If only they had the money for her dream wedding. She’s always wanted large bouquets of roses, a large church and a reception hall with food for all of her family. Maybe one day.”

He watched Consuela go over to the couple to relay his wish. He waved quickly at them and then resumed eating. Somehow, the food tasted even better than usual and he wondered if his increased euphoria at the couple’s happiness was to blame. He could certainly afford to extend a little good will. They weren’t responsible for his never marrying. He felt they deserved every happiness possible.

Consuela returned shortly with a small folder that held his charge. She walked off to check another table and Fox quickly opened the folder. He looked at the bill, but stopped for a moment. He glanced around at each table briefly, returned his gaze to the folder and made a quick calculation. He kept his head low so that no one would see his right eye flicker.

“Gracias, Senor,” Consuela said as she saw Fox leaving the restaurant.

She saw the red light flickering on the folder, signaling that full payment had been made and she picked it up. Upon opening it, she immediately felt faint and had to take a seat before she fell. Her manager walked over to her quickly.

“Are you okay, Consuela?” he asked, concerned.

She handed him the folder and he looked. He, too, nearly fainted. Somehow, Fox had figured out the costs of all the meals being consumed in the restaurant and had paid for every one of them. He had left Consuela a tip so large she would be able to pay her college tuition and keep a roof over her head for a year. Best of all, he had included a special bill item – full payment for a wedding in a large church, with lots of rose bouquets and enough money for a reception, a honeymoon and a gift to start a new life together.

The news left both waitress and manager reeling. They rushed outside, but Fox was gone. Consuela went back inside to break the news. Manuel lingered outside for a moment, his eyes focused in on the gray asphalt sidewalks and cobblestone streets. He had realized that such a monumental gift meant that, most likely, he would never see his best customer again and that made him very sad. He sighed heavily and then, putting on his best face, returned inside to join the cheering customers.

Fox was two blocks away when Manuel and Consuela had rushed outside. He hadn’t looked back. He knew it wasn’t good to look back. The engaged couple had only stirred up memories he’d buried. Memories of another time and place, of a happy couple talking merrily at an outdoor eatery in San Diego, California, by the old 32nd Street naval base. Before the Battle of Phuket changed everything, he thought ruefully.

Fox brought himself back to reality and he chided himself for bringing up memories again. He’d been doing it more and more lately. Maybe I’m just getting old, he told himself.

To get his mind off the past, he accessed his microcomputer and called up the information he’d amassed since he’d left his house. He had learned of Chiang’s promotion to head of the Praetorian Guard, but that hadn’t been unexpected; he was just surprised that the Federation Joint Chiefs had kept Mavromichalis on as his executive officer. He made a special note of a meeting of the Chiagas Board in Montevideo, Uruguay. He’d long suspected Dainmon Chiagas of trying to bring all of South America’s criminal gangs under his control, though his moves had been constantly thwarted by a lack of firepower to cow his opponents.

Fox moved on to the scene in Africa, Europe, Oceana, the always volatile Middle East and the rest of Asia. Nothing was amiss from the ordinary behind-the-scenes power grabs, though he made another special note of the increased pirate activity in the waters off Somalia. The government in Mogadishu had fallen again and the pirates’ main enemy in the Seychelles Coast Guard was preoccupied with reinforcing the island nation’s sea walls to stave off the rising ocean level.

His ears suddenly picked up sounds of feet scuffling on asphalt and he thought he heard a muffled voice. He turned into a narrow alley and stopped cold. Three burly men in old camouflage green army jackets and new retro black parachute pants were manhandling a girl who didn’t look to be close to eighteen. The largest had a hand over the girl’s mouth and a second man had grabbed her legs to pull her into the shadows.

“Look at what we got here,” the tallest thug said. “I get to be the first to pop that…”

He never completed his vulgar assertion, for his head pitched forward sharply, followed by his body. He dropped the girl and actually sailed over her to land face first on the pavement. The man to his left spun around just in time for Fox to slap him hard on his chest. He left his feet, sailed across the alley and smashed so hard into a brick wall that his head left a deep indentation. The girl would later tell police that it was like the man had been hit by a million-volt cattle prod.

The last thug took a huge roundhouse at Fox’s head, but had it blocked easily. He got a closed fist punch to his throat in reply. He gaggled and gurgled, desperately fighting for air as his body slid to the ground. He was lucky, though, his breathing only interrupted by the purplish bruise beneath his Adam’s Apple.

The ringleader of the rabble had recovered and he already found the space in his mouth where four of his newly cloned teeth had been. He ignored the girl scrambling out of his way, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the laser-edged knife he’d stolen just that morning. He thrust it forward and charged at Fox, who just stood there, unmoving and totally oblivious to his immediate danger.

Fox dodged the knife easily, parrying the thrust and spinning the thug around. He wrapped his right arm around the man’s shoulder and moved his left hand to the right side of his chin. Using the man’s momentum against him, he pulled violently. He didn't need to hear the sickening crack to know the thug was dead from a broken neck, but the girl heard it and she puked even as the man's body toppled to the pavement.

After a moment, the girl jumped to her feet, wiping her mouth with her shirt and then staring, in shock, the dead body before her. She looked at the two badly injured thugs, breathing hard as she realized just how close she’d come to being violated. She wished she’d never listened to Marcos, the bouncer from the club she should never have been in. She was glad he’d have trouble breathing for the foreseeable future.

She smiled at his plight and then went to thank her savior. Something stopped her, however – his glowing blue right eye, in fact. She felt a chill run down her spine as she recalled the stories of the blue-eyed bogeyman that her mother had told her as a babe. This was no bedtime story, however. She was looking directly at The Adventurer and, far from being a monster, he’d actually saved her life.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” Fox said, matter-of-factly and with little emotion. “Go home. Now!”

She nodded readily, turned and ran down the other end of the alley as fast as her little legs could carry her. Behind her, Fox surveyed the damage he’d wrought. Just as quickly, though, his eye returned to its normal blue hue and Fox blinked rapidly as if coming out of a trance. His ears picked up the sounds of passing fusion cars and of a T-180 supersonic transport craft flying high overhead. He became aware of the warmth of the sun and of the coolness of the shadows cast by it into the alley.

“I guess some things never change,” he muttered with a heavy sigh.

And some things never will, right, Devereaux? Maybe we should take your own advice and go home?

"When I'm ready, okay," Fox snarled at his microcomputer's suggestion. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes, Africa.”

To be continued...

For more exciting tales, check out the latest issues of Digital Digest at Amazon.

Gregory Marshall Smith

Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror author

Hunters They Call the Wind Muryah DarkTidings

Crawl

Sins of the Father

2011-12-15T00:05:00.000-08:00

Faxan slipped through the back door on shaking legs. His lower lip was numb and swollen and he tasted blood. His right eye was nearly swollen shut and he hurt in more places than he wanted to count.

All he wanted to do was crawl into his room and heal. This time had been worse than usual. He’d been jumped by a half dozen young males and they had beaten him until he couldn’t stand. Only the threat of dawn and burning alive had finally been enough to get him on his feet.

“Faxan?” his father bellowed from the front of the house. “Get in here.”

Shit. So much for making it upstairs unscathed. Shaking, he trudged down the hall to the living room. His father stood before the window, still dressed in the hated blue Wolf Guard uniform. His father was the reason he had no friends, the reason he was routinely beaten up, the reason everyone in the neighborhood hated him.

His father’s gaze swept him with open contempt. “Look at you,” his voice held disgust and loathing. “What kind of a worthless piece of shit are you that you can’t even defend yourself?”

It didn’t matter how he answered, it would be the wrong thing. His legs shook harder.

“I asked you a question.” His father’s gaze drilled into him.

Faxan looked at the floor. “There were too many of them.”

“Fucking pussy. Christ, why did your mother have to curse me with you? Seventeen years ago today. Didn’t think I remembered your birthday? How could I forget when you killed my mate? Why couldn’t you have died instead?”

Faxan couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. He didn’t need the frequent reminders that his mother had died because of his birth. His father never let him forget it and his father punished him, in one form or another, every day of his life for it.

“May I go? Please.” His voice waivered. He just wanted to escape to his room and lick his wounds.

“No. You may not. I’m not finished with you.” He stalked across the floor and Faxan backed away. His throat clogged shut and his stomach twisted into a tight knot. His father closed the distance fast and his hand lashed out, catching Faxan’s jacket and yanking him up on his toes. “God, I hate you,” his father said. Spittle flew from his lips and sprayed Faxan. His father flung him away.

He crashed into the wall then collapsed to the floor. He landed badly and pain shot through his ankle. For a moment, he thought it was broken. He moaned quietly and hoped his father was finished. He knew better than to fight back. He’d tried it once and his father had beaten him unconscious. All he could do was take whatever his father decided to dish out.

His father tromped toward him and Faxan tried to pull himself into the corner.

“You worthless piece of shit. Why do you stay here? I don’t want you. Can’t you get that through your stupid, thick skull?”

If he had one place he could go he would gladly pack his meager belongings and leave his father’s house.

“I asked you a question, you moron?”

He looked up and brushed his shaggy hair aside so he could meet his father’s eyes. “I know you hate me and don’t want me.”

“You just stay here to remind me of what I lost,” his father bellowed.

Faxan lowered his head, letting his hair hide his face. God, how he wished he had someplace he could go.

His father drew back his booted foot and kicked him in the stomach so hard that he vomited. He tried to crawl away from the mess on the polished hardwood.

“You dirty little fucker,” his father said in a deceptively calm voice. “Clean that shit up. When I come back in, I had better not see or smell anything on this floor. You got me?” Faxan nodded. His father kicked him in the thigh then spun on his heel and left the room.

Faxan curled over and let the tears fall. He couldn’t take any more. He just couldn’t. His father had beaten and degraded him for as long as he could remember. Vampires usually remained with their parents until their mid-twenties. He had no opportunities to leave. On the streets, he would have no choice but to work as a whore—there were no jobs for their kind—and he would rather die than be used like that. He couldn’t stay there any longer and he had nowhere to go.

There was no riding off into the moonlight for a happily ever after in the future for him. There were beatings, and injuries, and rejection, and humiliation, and pain, and suffering. That was his life. He’d never had a friend. He had no relatives that he knew of and no human would help him.

He lay on the floor and watched a bug scurry under the refrigerator. To his father, and everyone else for that matter, he didn’t have as much worth as that insect.

The front door banged closed. His father must be going to the corner store. He didn’t have time to go much further before dawn would break.

After a few minutes, Faxan struggled onto his shaky legs. His injured ankle gave out and he fell in a heap. He tried again and stood carefully. His ankle sent spikes of pain up his leg when he took a step but he didn’t care.

It was never going to stop. Maybe if he survived his father’s beatings and the neighborhood bullies, maybe he could get past the government’s locked down borders and make a life for himself in some other city where no one knew him. But what were the odds of that happening?

Slowly, he climbed the stairs and went into his barren bedroom. A threadbare denim jacket hung from a peg on the wall. He rooted through the pockets until he found three small capsules. He stood and held them in his hand.

He’d bought them two weeks ago. Some days, the days he was beaten extra hard, they were more tempting than others. He’d bought them to fix things, but he’d been afraid of going through with it. He slipped them into his pocket and hobbled back downstairs.

He limped to the kitchen and took a large glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. Then he measured out a generous helping of lemonade powder from the cheery yellow can. He added a bit more to cover any nasty taste. Then he took out the capsules and lined them up on the counter.

He stared at them for a moment, then twisted one open and dumped the contents into the glass, then the second one and then the third. He slowly stirred the powder into the lemonade. He gathered up the casings and tossed them in the garbage can.

The front door opened, closed.

Faxan’s gut tightened.

His father stomped through the house then he came into the kitchen.

Faxan’s gaze locked on the huge blade in his father’s hand. It was the hunting knife he carried at all times when he was on the government clock. Faxan knew exactly how it was used. The blade was serrated and slightly curved, ensuring maximum damage when it was thrust upward and then withdrawn.

He backed away from the counter.

Eyes gleaming, his father stalked forward. Light glinted off the blade. “You should have left when you had the chance you stupid little bastard.”

Faxan’s back touched cool wallboard.

His father lunged and agony tore through Faxan’s mid-section. His father jerked the blade free and stabbed him again and then a third time. His legs turned to numb rubber and he slid to the floor.

He glanced down at his t-shirt. Three patches of crimson were spreading rapidly. He tasted blood.

His father stood over him and smirked. “Fixed you, didn’t I? If there’s a hell, I hope you burn there forever.” He bent and wiped the bloody knife on Faxan’s ragged jeans. Then he turned and casually walked to the counter and picked up the glass of lemonade.

Faxan’s vision clouded as he watched his father lift the glass and drain the contents.

“Did it taste good?” he croaked.

“Son, that was the best damn glass of lemonade I ever had.” His father made a show of licking his lips in appreciation.

“That’s good,” Faxan said. His voice, like the rest of him was growing weaker. “Because that’s the last lemonade you’ll ever taste.”

His father choked, his face turned red and he strained to breathe.

“You little son of a bitch,” he gasped. “What was in that?”

“It was for me, you know?”

“What. . .was in it?”his father gasped.

“Poison.” He gave his father a lax smile and closed his eyes.

~ Nickie Asher ~

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Copyright © 2011 Nickie Asher

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Story of Sebastian, Chapter Six

2011-12-04T02:00:00.000-08:00

Story of Sebastian, Chapter Six

Features adult language.

When we last saw Sebastian in November, he’d found Paul’s target and was preparing for his first fight as an angel.

Sebastian checked them into the motel using the same ruse as before — brother and sister visiting distant relations. The woman at the desk had accommodated by giving them separate rooms connected through a doorway. He’d immediately taken the connecting doors off their hinges and stashed them in his room. No sense in leaving her an opportunity to bolt. Surprisingly, Sorcha had only laughed at the maneuver.

He’d left their departure date open-ended and paid in cash for a full week. He doubted they would stay the full week, but Sebastian wasn’t worried about the money. He’d discovered he could pull money out of thin air if it was needed. Yet another cool angel power he’d learned about while training with the redhead.

Now came the tricky part. He needed to do reconnaissance, but he couldn’t risk taking her along or leaving her behind. Sebastian was stuck and not sure how to proceed. He needed to learn if Dubhan was still being held in the same dungeon or if he’d been moved. Sebastian prayed the sadistic fucker holding Dubhan was still holed up in the same place. If he wasn’t, well Sebastian would run out of time trying to track him down.

Thankfully, Sorcha solved the problem the morning after their arrival. She looked much improved from their little boat ride after swearing off boats for all eternity. After the kindness of the Captain, she’d slept away the last day and a half of the trip in their cabin. Blissfully unaware of her discomforts, she’d yet to thank him for it and Sebastian wasn’t expecting gratitude any time soon.

“I’m bored,” Sorcha muttered, uncurling from the bed and hurling a book across the room. “Can we go look around?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not? The lady said there are great ruins just up the street. Maybe we could check those out?” She asked it all nonchalantly.

He knew it was as close to begging as she would get and it did solve his problem. Sorcha had no idea what was inside the ruins up the street— well what Sebastian hoped was still in the ruins. He was also hoping if he got close he could just call for Dubhan the way he did Sorcha and his new gifts would let him know if he was there or not.

Sebastian grabbed his recent purchase, a long black trench coat. “I think you’ve earned a field trip. Especially since you look recovered.”

He quickly ducked the pillow that flew his way. Sebastian had used her sickness as a cover for keeping her inside the previous day. Truth was, his brain had been busy planning and wasn’t up to the added task of babysitting. Now she’d unknowingly set his plan in motion.

Sorcha danced around excited as she threw on her coat and hat. Ireland still had moody weather and the humidity did hilarious things to her red hair. She’d begun hiding it with a hat the second they’d climbed off the ship. Since it helped hide her identity he wasn’t going to comment. Again, Sebastian felt the slightest nudge of guilt.

He watched as she danced around from flower to flower, smelling each of the abundant wild blooms. Now she looked like the Fae he sensed her to be. If it wouldn’t have cost him his head, he might have asked how a Fae got mixed up with Tuatha like Dubhan. Sebastian kept quiet as they neared the top of the hill. It was slow going with Sorcha enjoying the scenery, but appearing too eager would raise suspicion.

He crested the hill with Sorcha close behind. Sebastian tucked his hands in his pockets and just waited. His plan was really just to follow her lead in this. He couldn’t make her doubt his reason for being here. Honestly, he was afraid if he told her the ruins where her ‘first mission’, she run off into them. Usually not a bad plan, but he’d learned his lesson the first time around with Mr. Wizard. This time he would have a definite plan of attack first and surprise on his side. And, Sebastian seriously doubted she’d like the plan he was coming up with. Sorcha didn’t strike him as the type to enjoy playing bait.

Reeling his thoughts in, Sebastian mentally lined up his plan of attack. First things first, he needed to find out if Dubhan was still there.

“WOW! That’s amazing,” Sorcha uttered, taking in the view of the ruined old castle.

“It’s really more of a fort, but those served as castles for the Irish…”

“Who cares? It’s incredible!”

Sebastian motioned with his hand. “Go ahead, but don’t go into it. The crumbling thing is dangerous. Mind the ropes around it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be careful, Daaad. What are you going to do?”

Hell, what was he going to do? Sebastian smiled. “I’ll check in with the bosses.”

She nodded and took off at a full run. He knew she was armed according to his own instruction, but he still felt a chill. Sebastian’s intentions were two-fold. Get Sorcha off his back so he could concentrate on Dubhan and get Mr. Bad Guy’s attention. Hopefully the bastard was home, because a magical, pretty fairy dancing around his parameter was sure to get his attention.

Sebastian didn’t want to leave her out there too long. He broke his attention away from her and began to concentrate. He wasn’t sure it would work and, if it didn’t, plan B wasn’t going to help much. He finally closed off the sight of Sorcha twirling around the grassy field and let his senses wander.

There. He felt the tingle announcing the presence of who he was looking for. Dubhan was still inside, but the signal —if he could call it that— was weak at best. They’d have to act fast. Sebastian didn’t know the true name of the person holding him hostage, so his parlor trick wouldn’t work for finding Mr. Evil Magician. He tried to open the rest of his senses. He skimmed over Sorcha’s playful presence, Dubhan’s fading one, and found what he was after. Oh yeah, the sadistic asshole was still in residence and he was moving in on Sorcha. Part A accomplished.

He whistled loudly to call Sorcha back to him. She surprised him by coming immediately causing him to wonder if she’d sensed the danger stalking her from the ruins. Sebastian remained hidden by the trees, using another angel technique he’d stumbled on. He could become invisible and wasn’t that just a treat.

“Where the hell did you go?” Sorcha whispered.

Sebastian reappeared and chuckled as she jumped.

“You HAVE to teach me that trick!” she ordered and turned to start down the hill. “I take it you got instructions?”

He peered over his shoulder and his eyes narrowed. “I sure did.” His voice turned cold, “I hope you’re ready to fight.”

Sebastian jumped as her fist connected with his arm. “Of course I’m ready to fight! I kicked your ass last time!”

He groaned; of course she would think he’d been talking to her. “I know you’re ready to fight. I was talking to the guy we’re going after.”

“Oh… is he here?”

He shook his head. Sometimes, Sorcha showed moments of the carefree girl she probably used to be. Sebastian fought back the quick thought of leaving Dubhan to rot. She’d done nothing but complain about the guy since he’d met her. Sebastian had learned it was better not to interrupt her tirades. Of course, only he knew how much Dubhan had suffered for it. Not like he could clue her in though, it’d end their relationship in seconds. Sometimes, he had to remind himself why he was rescuing Dubhan though and, one day, he’d punch the guy for it.

“He’s holed up in the ruins. We’ll come back tonight.”

“YES!”

Sebastian laughed outright as Sorcha did somersaults and flips down the hill. He really should worry about her bloodlust, but it was so damned appealing right now. Mindful of her audience, he went invisible again and floated down the hill next to her. Yeah, so this angel couldn’t fly without his wings, but floating and gliding along weren’t so bad.

Sorcha stared into the fireplace, causing the flames to rise and fall. Sebastian considered it like a nervous twitch even if it was annoying in the extreme. Little flicker, raging inferno, little flicker… ugh, enough to make a guy jump out the window. He’d filled her in on his little plan and, while not completely opposed, she wasn’t very happy with him. The wound closing over his stomach was proof enough of her ire; her curses had just been the icing.

“You could have told me the plan BEFORE you decided. I don’t like playing bait and not knowing it.” Her quiet voice carried over to him.

He rubbed the now healed spot. “I gathered, but really it was just an on the spot idea.”

Her head turned, her eyes burning a hole in him. “You still could have taken five seconds to fill me in.”

Well, he had no comeback for that one. He couldn’t tell her that he wouldn’t risk Dubhan’s life on her saying no. Sebastian wasn’t willing to risk saying anything that mentioned the man’s name. Somehow he knew if he did, Dubhan would die and he’d spend a lifetime chasing Sorcha over the continents.

“Who exactly are we rescuing?”

Bloody hell, could she read his thoughts? She definitely kept him on his toes. “A powerful Warrior is all I know. And I’ll do the rescue, you’re job is the distraction.”

“Bait.”

“Distraction,” he growled.

Her eyes narrowed and Sebastian swallowed the growl too late. “You’re Tuatha.”

“Was Tuatha I guess, but I never knew my parents,” he hedged.

“The growl gives it away.” She stood to check her weapons. “Don’t like the thought of me being bait?”

She was actually teasing him about it? Sebastian wanted to strangle her and change his plan. “Of course not. The guy is dangerous, but it’s the only option we have of getting in. Unfortunately, he knows me.”

“How?” He winced in response. “Another can’t tell me bit, huh?” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take him out, you get the guy, and everyone is happy.”

“And what do you do after?”

“I wait for you here,” she answered in a monotone.

“Um, Sorcha, I have been assigned to you and I can find you anywhere. If you even think of running off…”

“You can find me?” She interrupted, punching a hole in the antique headboard. “And when were you going to share that?”

Sebastian shifted on his feet, ready for another attack. “I just did. It wasn’t important before.”

“And just what kind of danger am I in exactly?”

His head shook sadly. “I don’t know, but Gods I wish I did.”

And he meant it. He suddenly could understand why Dubhan loved this woman so much that he’d given her up. It still didn’t explain why Dubhan would actually give her up, but it gave him some understanding into his only friend. Damned if Sebastian would fail him by letting Sorcha get hurt. Keeping her safe would be something he could give Dubhan and maybe one day, Dubhan would be willing to help him in return.

“Sun’s almost down,” Sorcha interrupted, dropping the curtain and starting to arm up.

“You don’t have to do this…”

“I think you’ve guaranteed that I do.”

Her voice sent chills down his spine. Oh yes, she was resigned to playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. His guilt grew a little larger and Sebastian itched to do something differently. He couldn’t though, even knowing he was on a dead end road, his only choice was to keep going. He would just do his best to make sure Sorcha didn’t go down with him.

I have really enjoyed writing out these chapters for our loyal readers at Digital Digest. The group is being reorganized to better deliver stories to you. Never fear, Sebastian’s story is far from over. He will be appearing on my blog and, someday, as his own novel- with quite a large role in the third book of the Tuatha Destiny series. I hope you’ll continue to love and follow his exploits. Again, thank you for all your support.

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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Daria's Dating Dilemma, Part Five

2011-11-26T04:00:00.000-08:00

Daria’s Dating Dilemma, Part Five

When we left Daria on October 26^th, she was facing arrest and the loss of a potential husband…

Marcus made quick work of the charges pending against Keith and I. He also made sure someone took a look at Keith’s injuries. Thankfully, he’d be sore but not permanently brain damaged. My old college buddy was a sight to behold. A few words like co-defendants, counter suits, and departmental inquiries scared the department into dropping all charges and washing their hands of us.

He also gave my cheeky ex a few words of caution. I probably wouldn’t see Scott for a year at least. Keith’s receptionist picked him up since Marcus had advised us not to leave together. Just in case someone got second thoughts about pressing charges, he’d said. I was surprised to see Keith’s assistant was a sharply dressed man. I shrugged and started walking away after telling him to get better soon.

Shame, I really wanted to show him my full gratitude but all my cop shows told me it was best to follow the advice of your lawyer.

“Daria, wait.” I paused as Marcus’ words drifted over to me. “Would you like a ride?”

Funny how two people can have parallel trains of thought, but I knew he wasn’t offering the kind of ride I really needed. Then again the thought of walking through town with blood stains on my shirt was embarrassing. I was also sure the handcuffs had given me a lovely rash.

I gripped my handbag and decided. “Sure, Marcus. A ride would be nice.”

He walked with me to his car in the adjacent parking lot. It was a nice sedan, but nothing extravagantly special like I’d expected. I slid carefully into the passenger seat as he held the door open. I remembered my rule about not flashing panties and I also didn’t want to transfer any of the blood on my shirt to the vehicle’s interior.

I buckled up as he slid in beside me and began asking questions. “Are you hungry? Feeling okay? You’ve barely said anything at all.”

I don’t know what washed over me at that particular moment, but all my walls broke down and the dam burst free. That’s right—in the middle of the police parking lot, smeared with blood and drool I, Daria, broke down into a tidal wave of tears. Sobbing, body shaking tears. I clutched my handbag so tightly, my nails scratched the leather.

Marcus’ warm hand sat on my shoulder after he handed me a handkerchief. “Let it out and I’ll take you back to my office. You can get cleaned up and we’ll order some food and catch up.”

“You’d really want me to stay?” I choked out the question between sobs.

“Daria, you are not sitting at home alone tonight. You need a friend now more than ever.” He ignored my tears, my mascara stained cheeks, and all the ugliness that was me as he slid the car into drive and pulled out of the lot.

The car was a manual and he drove it elegantly. My tears subsided as I watched him maneuver the clutch, gas, and stickshift through downtown traffic. I couldn’t see his feet, but I could watch his knees dance under the designer slacks.

“Feeling a little better?” He interrupted my thoughts without taking his eyes off the road.

“Yes,” I answered and studied his profile. Marcus was an interesting mix of Scottish and Arabian. I’d always thought he looked like an awkward tanned Scot, but now that he’d grown into the look. Wow! A highlander with a permanent tan was a yummy to the tenth degree combo.

He turned his intense hazel gaze on me as we sped along the freeway. “What happened with you, Daria? Never saw much of you after college.”

I chuckled weakly. “I didn’t like the alumni things. Mostly old people trying to remember their youth, and it creeped me out a little. Then I got busy working on the career and well, here I am.”

He nodded and shifted his attention back to the road. I noticed the smile on his profile, before his lips started moving. “And that’s working out well for you?”

“Never a dull moment.” The humor of the situation sank in and I chose to laugh. It was either laugh or cry and I’d already done the crying jag. Laughter always made a gal feel better even if she looked like a nutcase.

He laughed along with me. The deep baritone warmed up the interior of the car and made me feel a little better. Marcus seemed to sense the change as soon as I stopped laughing.

“I always loved your laugh. And don’t worry, my office has a studio you can clean up in and my take out menus are there. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

So why did my head suddenly think Damn? I nodded and lowered the visor, using the mirror to clean up the majority of the makeup mess with a wet wipe from my bag. Marcus was right- I needed a friend most now. I could quell the lust and just have a relaxing take out dinner. Maybe.

We pulled off the freeway and I was startled to see us nearing my neck of the woods. Was his office out here and I just somehow missed it? The sedan stopped as I looked out at my doorstep, and then I spotted my car in front of the house.

“What, exactly, is going on?” Years of dealing with a stalker added ice to my words.

He held his hands up. “I peeked at your address in the file. A quick call and a tow company brought your car home while we were at the station. My office is about ten minutes from here and I thought you might like to change into your own clothes. I also thought it would give you a way to turn me down.”

There was something in his voice as he uttered the last words. In his own way, Marcus had made the ultimate gesture for me. While I was busy thinking I was with super-stalker or getting dumped on the curb, he was busy thinking I would turn him down. Interesting.

Rule Number 7: Spend a little less time thinking about me and a little more watching the guy.

I took a deep breath. “I would love to join you, but I’m not inviting you in.”

“Understandable. I can wait in the car, make a few calls. Do you still like sweet and sour chicken?” I nodded, surprised he remembered, and hopped out of the car.

This was going to be the fastest wardrobe change ever. And since we were just friends, no sense on going all out with the look. I threw on my old jeans, a t-shirt from our alma mater, and washed the remaining gunk off my face.

Rule Number 8: ALWAYS wear waterproof mascara or skip it.

I was comfortable and at ease when I settled back into the passenger seat. “So, will we beat the food to your office?”

He revved the engine and grinned, “I love a challenge.”

“No, you’re kidding. You were a racecar driver?” I laughed into my glass of wine and then dug another piece of pineapple from the cardboard container.

“For a little bit,” he grinned and grabbed an eggroll. “I wasn’t winning and winning made the money, so I gave it up and went back to finish law school.”

“It does explain how easily you shifted gears on the way here.”

He paused and his eyes darkened. “You still have a thing for cars I see.”

I lowered my voice, looked around, and whispered dramatically, “It’s our little secret.”

He nodded and poured another glass of wine for each of us. I was laid out on the floor, sprawled on my side with the food on a blanket between us. Not sure how to lay out the room’s furniture to the best eating arrangement, we’d agreed to try the picnic route. The plush of his carpet told me his business was doing well. Thank God the wine was white.

Dinner had mostly been a conversation about college memories, what we were each doing now, and the usual friendly banter. I’d barely noticed as the night crept in. Marcus had been right as usual, the friend route was much better than crying home alone.

“So, what was up with the protest arrest charge in your file?”

I almost snorted wine out my nose. Only by the grace of my manners did I manage to swallow before blurting a loud, “WHAT?”

He merely grinned and leaned against his large desk with one leg propped up. It was the same stance he’d used in baseball. Marcus laughed, “I didn’t have time to read the specifics, but apparently you’re used to inciting riots.”

“It was not a riot. At least, not intentionally.” I stood carefully and plopped into a chair. “You tried race car driving, I tried activism. As my record proves, I’m not good at it.”

Marcus’ rich laughter and the wave of his hand goaded me for more. I sighed and explained how I’d tried to save a forest site home to a bird I liked. The protest I’d arranged had spiraled out of control, mostly owing to the fact that all of the men were there hoping to get laid. When the fight broke out over who would get who, the spectators (IE the foresting companies) thought violence was in the works. I was handcuffed and hauled in before I could cry uncle.

Marcus slapped his hand over his heart in an urge to control his laughter. I snorted unladylike and waved him on. “Go ahead, everyone has a great laugh over it.”

“Did your forest get saved?”

“What?” Odd, no one had ever asked me that after I told the story. They usually called me silly.

“Did your efforts work?”

I grinned and walked up to him, reaching around for the wine bottle before backing away to pour. “In their own way, they did. My efforts made the news and, after the news spread, a more organized and legitimate group took up the cause. The trees are still there.”

He lifted his glass at me with a dangerous look in his eye, one that made my knees weak and my heart pound. His voice was deeper when he spoke, “Then I congratulate your successful protest.”

I blinked at him and then eyed the wine bottle in my hand. How much had he drunk? I was merely buzzed by what I’d consumed. No one had ever congratulated me or called my attempt a success. In a round about way, it was. I stood taller.

“I always liked that about you.” I stumbled toward him.

“What’s that?” He asked, standing straight.

“Your undying supportiveness…” I promptly crashed into his massive chest.

I would like to say I stumbled over my own feet and maybe I did. The truth being the wine was stronger than I thought. The alcohol winked me out in my moment of glory without robbing me of the memory of my downfall. I winced as I shoved the blanket off me and sat up.

Hangovers, the sign that something either went right the night before or…. I looked down at my fully clothed self before I continued the thought. I raised an unsteady hand to my throbbing head. Or a sign that I overindulged and made a fool of myself.

I gathered my things, swiping a bottle of water from the mini fridge on my trip around the office. I paused long enough to take two aspirin and then quickly made my escape. He was my lawyer, I’d have to see him again. But that particular morning I couldn't face Marcus or how he must now view me.

I checked my phone after a few blocks of walking had me feeling better. No messages and it was almost afternoon. As if adding insult to injury, my brain chose that moment to remember poor Keith. The guy had gotten banged up rescuing me and there were no messages on my phone. None.

When I couldn’t sink any lower, I walked into the street sign while staring at the blank screen on my phone. My phone sailed into the intersection and was promptly run over by the biggest delivery truck I’d ever seen in my neighborhood. Serendipity was a bitch.

I sank to my butt and held my head. Keith hated me, Marcus thought I was an idiot, and my only friend in the world would probably never invite me back to his house again. Hell, even my trusty stalker would probably avoid me for a while…

The first raindrop spattered on my nose and I looked skyward. “Really? Really!” I muttered at no one in particular. “The dating Gods hate me…”

Please return for the continuation of Daria’s journey on December 27th, only here on Digital Digest. Want to make the right move with your reading addiction? Check out our ebooks available on the Kindle and Nook or sign up to have each piece delivered straight to your Kindle for hassle-free reading.

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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Land of the Blind (Chapter 2 -- Part II)

2011-11-20T23:11:00.000-08:00

Recap: In Chapter 2, General Kober Chiang, the new commanding officer of the reconstituted Praetorians, testifies before Parliament and receives the funds he needs to destroy Devereaux Marshall Fox.

* * * * * *

Maria Red Horse snapped to attention and executed a textbook salute as Lt. Colonel Anna Velasquez approached the door to the command center. Anna returned the salute promptly. She let her gaze linger a bit, because she shared more with Red Horse than most people.

“Please step up to the bio sensor, ma'am,” Red Horse replied, with little emotion.

Anna waved her hand over the door sensor, waiting for it to admit her to the command center of the Praetorian Force's main operations base in a large compound northeast of Jacksonville, Florida. A green beam played out over her palm, analyzing her fingerprints, DNA and the diametric pattern of her hand's nerves, veins and bone structure. A smooth-sounding computer voice announced that it had positively identified her and approved entry, letting the thick steel-like door slide open.

Anna started through, noticing that the guard moved crisply to a position of parade rest. She abruptly stopped and stepped partially back out of the doorway. She eyed the guard with some curiosity. It had been some time since she’d last laid eyes on the sergeant and she couldn’t miss the noticeable improvement, especially in the woman’s body. The last time they’d actually talked, Red Horse had still been recovering from the ordeal in Fort Worth.

“How long have you been stationed here, Staff Sergeant Red Horse?” she inquired.

“Just reassigned here, ma'am,” Red Horse answered smartly.

“I see that you’ve recovered from your injuries very well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Red Horse replied. “I’m ashamed to admit that I accepted cybernetic augmentation to do so. It’s not something my people would be proud of.”

Anna frowned slightly. Red Horse was from the Apache nation, a tribe that espoused the virtues and instincts of warriors. However, cybernetic and bionic augmentation had been accepted for decades and, frankly, Anna was surprised to find some groups still resistant to the idea. After all, without the augmentation, Red Horse almost certainly would have been discharged from the Praetorians on disability.

“Is security so bad they have to put non-commissioned officers on the doors?” Anna asked, curiously, trying to switch the subject, as she moved back into the hallway to let the door close again.

Anna watched Red Horse’s face for any sign of emotion, but found none. This was starkly different from the months they’d spent together in ICU when they’d both been assigned to the same therapy ward. Anna had only survived by sheer force of will, backed up a little by her cybernetics that allowed the microcomputer in her brain to shut down certain body functions to preserve her life force. Red Horse had suffered emotional scars, along with her physical wounds. There had been the very real possibility of being permanently disabled, not the outcome she’d envisioned as befitting a proud warrior.

Anna and Red Horse had both been assigned to the same room and had become fast friends, if only because they’d needed friendship to get through the physical and mental travails. Eventually, Red Horse had been released, but Anna had stayed behind. Her body had healed nicely, thanks to the billions of nanobytes swimming through her blood stream to heal and repair the damage. But, her mental state had been a different matter. Getting herself back from the brink of madness had cost her another five years of her life.

Red Horse said nothing and that made Anna smile. The staff sergeant was good, very disciplined. She wasn't going to venture an opinion that might get her into trouble. The friendship they’d had in the hospital had been in the past; now, they were once again enlisted and officer.

“You can speak freely, Staff Sergeant,” Anna offered, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Ma'am, Major Donat demoted me here,” Red Horse replied, airs of resignation in her voice now, as if a great weight had been lifted, unhappily, off her chest. “I caught him getting favors from one of my people. A greenie.”

Anna had figured as much. Being a Praetorian was a high honor and included many privileges. One was getting away with things (unofficially, that is) and Major Peter Donat was one of the unit’s worst offenders. He had purposely kept Red Horse from making rank for what had to be weak reasons. Donat was the weakest link in the Praetorian’s unofficial “Triumvirate of Evil” – a term Anna had coined years earlier. The other two included Capt. Erica Rickholts and Lt. Colonel Alec Paulius, younger brother of Leonard Paulius.

“At the end of your shift, report to my office,” Anna said. “Just ask for me in the command center and they'll direct you. You clearly belong on my staff, not with a jackass like Donat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Red Horse replied, her demeanor improving considerably.

Red Horse waited until Anna was completely inside and the door had closed before breaking out with a broad smile.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Velasquez,” a young Army corporal in a standard-issue flexible black body armor suit said as Anna walked into the command center. “Colonel Mavromichalis just called in, ma’am. She and the general are on their way back from the budget meeting with Parliament. They should be landing within the hour.”

He stood at attention and handed her a palm tabulator, which, though tiny for its capabilities, showed Anna everything that had occurred on the last eight-hour watch. After Anna finished watching it, she pressed her right thumb against the small screen so that it would recognize her print and record that she had approved the information. She handed the tabulator back to the corporal.

“Thank you, Corporal,” she acknowledged. “Please inform the duty officer to alert me when the transport is fifteen minutes out. Then, have a vehicle ready to get me to the airfield.”

“Yes, Colonel,” the corporal acknowledged as Anna moved off towards the main part of the operations center.

Anna stopped in the center of the room and stared at the laser chip view screen that dominated the room. Thousands of tiny lasers projected a nearly flawless three-dimensional holographic image of a Mercator map of the world. In the corners were real-time satellite views of the four interplanetary outposts, though some images were hours old because of the incredible distances they were from Earth. Anna noted that all seemed okay on the colonies on the Moon and Mars and with the numerous space cities orbiting Earth, as well as the still-under-construction Bechetta Space Station near Io, a moon of Jupiter.

“Cristo, it's enough to give you migraines,” Anna murmured as she stared at the massive screen.

The main part of the map was currently filled with hundreds of blue, red, green and yellow dots. Anna knew that the dots represented current operations and missions - civilian, corporate and military - in progress around the world. Green dots meant corporate activities such as trade ports, construction, drilling and exploration. Yellow dots stood for Federation operations, including covert activities, while red covered civilian missions like religious projects, volunteer activities and the like.

Dozens of civilians and military personnel monitored these dots. They each had separate computer consoles where they used the mentally-driven command system, interfaced via the standard cybernetic implants behind one of their ears, to keep track of every aspect of each dot. Weather reporting, news, e-mail, wireless messaging, research & analysis, language translation and, in some cases, covert surveillance could be done at each console. As operations officer, Anna had to keep the center running smoothly and react instantly to any major changes.

Anna couldn't help but notice as several blue dots disappeared off the map. She chafed at the actions, but held her tongue. The blue dots represented sightings of the Adventurer, a nickname she still hated despite its popularity with the media. Most were false, planted by Marshall Fox himself, to the chagrin of most of the Praetorian Force, which wasted valuable man-hours and millions of credits to track each false report. But, Anna also knew that one of the blue dots had to be him, so the watch was always ongoing.

Anna held back her emotions. She hadn't survived years of intense physical and psychological rehab just to lose her grip on reality now. She’d spent the last three years of psych rehab undertaking every dirty job the Praetorians could throw at her to see if her psyche could handle it. She’d not only survived them, but had excelled and come out of it more capable than she’d been before Fort Worth. That had earned her a fast-tracked promotion to lieutenant colonel.

Anna had had enough of the map and walked towards her office. At her door, she performed the same identification ritual and waited for the artificial intelligence to open the thick security door. Once in her office and only after the door had closed did she breathe a huge sigh of relief and let her body sag against the door. It took several moments for her to gather herself, push herself upright and make her way over to her desk. She fell into the ergonomically-designed chair and let its automatic massage function work away some of the tension that was giving her a massive headache.

The desk itself was sparse, little more than a metal frame around tempered glass. Set into the desktop was a rectangular screen that served as a computer, television screen and holographic projector. It wasn't much, but it was all Anna needed.

“Photos, please,” she said to no one.

The artificial intelligence unit in the office responded by projecting holographic shapes out from tiny points on her desk to form three-dimensional images. Two square picture frames appeared before Anna. One featured a tanned man smiling and hugging a small girl. The other photo showed a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Anna. She’d only known her parents for eight years and had only been really cognizant of them for five years when her mind could actively hold memories. Five years had not been enough time, not enough time at all.

It took a few moments before she realized she was crying again. She had told herself not to do it, lest the Praetorian psychiatrists think she was on the verge of another breakdown. She couldn't help it, though. The memories stirred up by the photos were still very raw. They also served to help drive the all-consuming passion that kept her going even in the darkest of times.

“You bastard, Fox,” she muttered as she wiped away the tears. “You killed them all. Before I kill you, you are going to tell me why.”

Mavromichalis couldn’t understand how Chiang was still awake. They’d each had their share of steak, potatoes and fresh vegetables and the colonel had found it difficult to hold off sleep on the flight home afterward. Apparently, Chiang had been up and about for the entire trip from Ottawa, Ontario, home of the Federation Parliament. She’d found out that he had been making constant communications with contacts at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., as well as calls to allies around the world. The man seemed full of boundless energy and she had to admit that he would need it.

Chiang looked up from his computer console station and saw that his adjutant was awake. He motioned for her to join him. As he did so, he turned the computer screen slightly so that she would not be able to see it.

“You might as well know that I was not in favor of you staying on as my executive officer,” Chiang said, bluntly, when Mavromichalis plopped herself down into the chair next to him.

Wow, really? I hadn't noticed, Mavromichalis said to herself, while avoiding the obvious bait.

“That said, we might as well strike a truce,” Chiang followed up, as he completed a computer command and cut off communications. “We have a huge job ahead of us if we are to get the Federation back to the top of food chain, so to speak. First and foremost is a show of strength to our allies.”

Mavromichalis started to ask about the allies, but cut herself off. She was so poor in the area of politics, she didn’t know if her new boss was referring to friends inside the Federation or outside. She just sat back and listened, pretending to know what Chiang was talking about.

“We both know that most of my first one hundred days will be consumed by administrative functions, training and readiness reports,” Chiang stated, with some chagrin. “But, we also have to be proactive. We need to ramp up our intelligence capabilities, if only to avoid the problems of the past.”

“I completely agree, General,” Mavromichalis acknowledged. “I have actually instituted several changes with our verification process that should go a long way toward accomplishing that goal.”

“For this reason, I am putting the intel upgrades under the auspices of Lt. Colonel Paulius,” Chiang said, basically ignoring his exec.

Mavromichalis burned at the slight, but even more so at the thought of Alec Paulius heading up something so sensitive. Though it would mean the man would be out in the field more and out of her hair, he would also be in close contact with allies. She knew that might ruffle a lot of feathers. And it would be worse if Paulius’ other two sycophants – Rickholts and Donat – got involved. She was finding even more reasons to rue the selection of Kober Chiang to head the group that she had painstakingly rebuilt.

“Is there anything specifically that we are looking for?” she asked. “Or someone?”

Chiang looked at her with stern eyes. He clearly didn’t like her tone, but knew he couldn’t do anything about it. Yet.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Colonel,” the general snapped. “I need a complete workup on someone to lead a special mission.”

“Special mission for what, sir?”

“Colonel, you’ve done a great job rebuilding the Praetorians into the most effective fighting force in the world,” Chiang stated. “On paper. However, until the unit proves itself, there will always be questions. And we both know exactly who they have to prove themselves against.”

Great, just great, Mavromichalis rued. She wanted the chance for her people to prove themselves and she had gotten it. However, she was expected to take on a ghost, a man who had been seen all of five times in the last eight years. She couldn't even vouch for the accuracy of those sightings. She didn't know how she could be expected to handle the logistics of getting an attack force ready to go, to take on a man who defied logic.

“General, we’re preparing our final approaching into the airfield,” the pilot’s voice announced over the intercom.

“I’ll need that list as soon as possible,” Chiang said, before returning to his computer. “At the very least, I will need an extremely capable leader for the attack force. I need a complete workup on Fox, on his past missions, characteristics, tactics. We need to find that one thing that will finally give us an edge on him. Like verifying exactly what he looks like.”

This is how it begins, Mavromichalis fumed. She thought the general sounded as if he wanted to sideline Velasquez and herself. She knew that it would give him free reign to do whatever he wanted. She just hadn’t quite figured what Chiang really wanted.

She did, however, like the idea of sidelining Velasquez. She liked the woman and admired her tenacity in coming back from physical injuries that would have crippled much stronger people. However, she just wasn't fully convinced that her subordinate had recovered psychologically, which is why she had not endorsed the fast-track promotion. Someone in the Pentagon had, though, and she hoped it didn't come back to sting them all.

She started to say something, but held her tongue as the transport began to hover, transferring the output from its fusion engines to its landing baffles. The plane descended slowly and gracefully, touching down on the tarmac so softly she didn’t even know the procedure was over until she heard the engines dying out. She glanced to her left, looked through one of the windows and saw Anna Velasquez standing next to several armored fusion vans parked next to the airfield control tower.

“No gripes, Colonel,” Chiang snapped. “Just get it done.”

“Yes, sir,” Mavromichalis grumbled as she undid her seat harness and got up.

Chiang glanced up and watched her move forward toward the exit. When he saw her exit the plane, he returned his gaze to his computer console. He knew she’d be talking to Velasquez out on the tarmac. He didn’t care what she did, as long as she carried out his requests and didn’t get in his way.

“Get me Paulius,” Chiang ordered the plane’s pilot. “Paulius? Get your bags packed. You, Rickholts and Donat are taking a trip. The plan is on.”

To be continued...

For more exciting tales, check out the latest issues of Digital Digest at Amazon.

Gregory Marshall Smith

Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror author

Hunters They Call the Wind Muryah DarkTidings

Crawl

Finders Keepers: Tempted - Chapter Eight

2011-11-20T06:00:00.000-08:00

Content Advisory: sexual intercourse, coarse language

Recap: In Chapter Seven, disaster strikes for Demonica’s lingerie line and she’s called out of town. Her relationship with Adam is tested when she learns he’s a demon hunter.

Adam stood outside the door of Monica’s house. He’d half expected her hounds to knock him over as he entered the yard but they were nowhere to be found. All of her windows were dark and when he’d stopped at the pub on his way over Danny had reported not seeing her once in the last week.

“Where are you, Monica?”

He cursed himself for not calling her or at least sending a quick text to let her know why he hadn’t returned as promised. The bastards at Command had sent him right back out into the field after his check-in.

A rock crunched on the concrete walkway behind him and Adam pulled his guns free as he turned quickly to confront whoever dared approach her door. Blake smiled at the barrel pointed in his face and Adam lowered it slightly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Adam growled.

“So,” Blake’s grin widened. “This is what all the fuss is about. Who’s Monica?”

“No one and nothing. You’ll forget all about this.”

Blake waved his hand in the air. “These aren’t the droids I’m looking for… Drop the bullshit. No one knows you better than me and something’s definitely off.”

He watched Blake sniff the air and knew the instant his friend picked up the scent clearly broadcasting his reason for being on Monica’s doorstep. Blake glanced knowingly at the door.

“Nice. Who is she? She know what you do?”

“She thinks I’m a travelling salesman,” Adam announced. “As for the other, she’s a kickass demon.”

Blake stumbled back a step and Adam remembered the unfortunate run-in his partner had with a female demon three years before.

“Listen Blake,” he chuckled. “She’s the good sort or I wouldn’t be here. How about you run home and tell them everything is hunky dory?”

“Or…”

Adam growled, all pretence gone from his friendly demeanor. “I’ll skin you for being within twelve feet of her door.”

Blake held his hand up. “Alright, alright. Anyone asks, the natives know nothing and you’ve found a nice local to show you around.”

Adam waited until Blake disappeared before deciding the safest thing to do involved heading home and waiting to see what happened. He ran a hand down the door, wishing he could apologize, before he turned and took the long way home.

Two more days passed and he had yet to hear from her. Adam worked out, bumped over every trail outside of town on his motorcycle and cleaned out the hangar, twice, to keep from staking out Monica’s house.

He’d checked the secret cell he carried for any message from her but none came. She’s a big girl, he reminded himself. I’m sure wherever she is, Monica’s fine.

Telling himself the trip by her house was just a surveillance drive by, he slowed his motorcycle as he drew near. Sheoul and Tartarus bounded and barked at him from behind the fence. Their presence in the yard meant the woman who cared for them had come home, finally.

Adam parked his motorcycle in the driveway and hopped the fence. He’d barely lifted his hand to knock on the door when it opened and Monica stood before him in nothing but a lacy pink bra and panties.

“Holy hell....”

She grinned and pulled him in by the shirtfront. “I’ll take that as a sign that you like it. Get in here and kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Adam dropped his helmet and jacket on the floor, kicked the door shut and hauled her against him as their mouths met in a hot tangle of teeth, lips and tongues. Before he knew it, her hands worked their way up his shirt, the material bunched under his arms as she attempted to remove the garment.

Demonica let out a small frustrated growl, the material tearing as she ripped the shirt apart and flung the shreds aside. The heat of her mouth enveloped his left nipple and he sucked in a breath.

“Monica,” he moaned. “Slow down, baby.”

“Demonica,” she murmured against his skin. “My real name is Demonica, or Demo. Now, shush. I’ve missed you.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow at the top of her blonde head as she nipped and kissed her way down his torso.

“Demo,” he groaned. “Not in the entryway. Please, baby. At least, let me get you to your room before you short circuit my brain with that amazing mouth of yours.”

Her mouth continued its delectable path toward his waist band. The soft, wet brush of her tongue over his skin threatening to wipe away any chance he had to ask her where in hell she’d been all week.

Nimble fingers undid the button of his jeans and Adam sprang into motion. He hauled her up, belly to belly and pressed Demonica against the wall.

“Stop,” he growled menacingly. “I’ve been out of my mind worrying about you all week. You didn’t call, leave a note, text… nothing. Then, when I discover you’re home, you jump me the second I walk in the door. What the hell is up with you?”

She rested her head against the wall and gave him a slow, sexy smile to match the smoldering lust in her gaze. Her hips shifted against him, clearly aware of the raging erection barely contained inside of his jeans.

“An emergency came up at the office,” she admitted. “I also got an interesting email and needed some time to think.”

“About?” he bit the word out. The hot and cold attitude changes were giving him whiplash.

Demonica stared at him for a moment; long enough to make him squirm and wonder what thought processes were taking place behind her beautiful blue eyes.

“You know I’m a demon, right?”

He nodded and waited to see where she went with it.

“The rest of your team is cool with you dating the very thing you guys hunt and kill?”

Shit. Adam took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second and reopened them to focus on her. Somehow she’d found out and denying it wouldn’t do them any good in the long run. They had agreed to give whatever they felt for each other a shot. Lying to her didn’t figure into the equation.

“Yes, they know. Well, Blake and Danny do. Anyway,” he waved a hand to clear the subject. “I know you’re not the same as the demons we hunt and kill. I’ve explained it to them and they’re cool with us being together.” He took a deep breath and dove in with the explanations. “The Council is in charge of my team. They would prefer I kill whoever they tell me to, but I don't kill innocent people – demon or not. I and all my teammates were born different, advanced. They've never fully explained it. We were stronger, faster, healed better. The scientists approached us and said we'd be making our country proud. They promised to make us super soldiers. Played God is what they did. They mixed our DNA with animal genes. I can't explain the science behind it, I was just a paratrooper. We don't know exactly everything they did, just what we could figure out. A group of us are rogue. We work for them but within our own rules. That's why I'm so careful with you.”

“Most of that I’d already figured out,” she continued with the blank stare. “My source was thorough with their research. Go on…”

“I've got some Tiger, wolf and who knows what else inside me.” He gathered her to him and moved them to sit in the living room. The process gave him time to put his thoughts in order. “The Council isn't good and there are members of my team that aren’t either. I'll explain more about that later.” He took her hands in his and continued, “Them messing around with us did something to our chemistry. Do you notice an alluring smell when I'm close?”

She smiled and leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Is that what it is? I just chalked it up to fabulous cologne. So, what does it mean?”

“It's for you. Only people like me know what it is and it indicates something very serious. It means you're the only one I'll ever want. If you can't deal with or live with that, you'll have to tell me. We get dangerous without our,” he paused, searching for the right word. “Mate – I guess you'd call it. I don't want to rush things here. I just want you to know what you're getting into. As for the guys you can trust, they'll call me by one name – Alpha. Anybody doesn't know that, don't trust them and shoot to kill.”

Demo nodded as she digested the last bit of information. She’d spent all of her free time, and some not so free, thinking of him and the implications of what Kaleth had uncovered about Adam.

“I can deal and live with it,” she grinned and leaned in to kiss him. “I did a lot of thinking in New York and, I don’t want anyone else either. You’re it for me, Adam.”

“Good,” he murmured against her lips. “If you change your mind, they’ll shoot me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she brushed her fingers over his jaw, the light stubble prickling her fingertips. “I’m yours for as long as you want me. Now, about what I was trying to start when you came in.”

He grinned and spread his arms wide. “Go for it.”

She laughed, hands sliding over his chest as she brushed her lips against his. Adam pulled her close, his mouth devouring hers and rolled her slowly beneath him.

“I thought,” she panted between kisses. “You wanted me to.” Demo groaned as his mouth moved lower. “Bedroom?”

A small meep of surprise escaped her when he scooped her up into his arms and surged up from the couch. She wrapped herself around him, the opened fly of his jeans bumping her core with each step.

Adam traversed the twenty feet between her couch and bed in record time. He sat her on the end of the mattress and she scooted back to enjoy the show as he stripped bare.

The thick length of his erection bobbed with each step he took closer to her. She smiled as a thought ran through her mind. His cock seemed to nod at her, silently saying Yes, I’m coming for you and you will enjoy me immensely as he approached. She didn’t doubt it for a second.

He stalked her on hands and knees across the bed, the primal tiger blue of his eyes daring her to run. She stayed put, chest heaving with anticipation, body primed and ready for him to capture it, claim her.

Adam pressed his body to hers. His touched fleetingly between her thighs, hard fingers against damp lace and eager flesh. Need, fierce and hungry blazed through her. His eyes burned a path over her skin, searing down to her soul and branding her his forever.

Demo gave herself up to the dizzying need burning through her. The way he touched her, more amazing than anything she could ever have imagined – until he hesitated.

“Adam,” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He growled, low and primal as he shook his head and took a deep breath. Every inhale filled his senses with her until he couldn’t deny the urge any longer. He dove in, kissing her hard as his instincts drove him. There would be no going slow for this claiming. The DNA took over and left him helpless to resist.

The flimsy fabric of her panties ripped easily away beneath his questing fingers. Blessedly wet, hot and silky flesh parted as he sank two digits inside. She instantly clamped down around him and Adam lost it.

His cock replaced his fingers and pushed deep inside until be bumped the end of her. Buried to his balls, Adam froze, realization of what he’d just done settling in to his lust fogged brain.

“Oh, God,” he stared at her, wide eyed. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He kissed her gently, suckling at the pulse on her neck as he waited for her to respond, moan, anything. “You okay?”

“Perfect,” she purred. Her hips rose up, grinding against him and she smiled. “Don’t be sorry. I’m okay and there’s nowhere else I want to be but right here.” Demo gently caressed the back of his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. Just before their lips touched, she whispered, “I love you. I trust you.”

Adam kissed her gently at first, then harder. He willed the heat back into her eyes with each sweep of his tongue over hers, each caress of her perfectly shaped breasts. Listening to her heartbeat, her breathing, he stopped thinking and let his senses and instincts take over.

“Delicious,” he murmured. His tongue ran across her collarbone as his hips moved slowly between the smooth pillars of her thighs. Pushing himself up, his tongue trailed to her breast and around a nipple. His cock slipped deep as she arched into his mouth and moaned.

The husky sound kicked his lust into high gear, his hips pumping faster with each sexy whimper. He kissed her again and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, hips grinding with each and every thrust. Eyes closed, he could hear the racing of her heart, the catch of her breath.

Reaching down, he hooked her legs under the knees and sank deeper as he moaned her name.

“Demonica,” he growled and nipped at the sensitive skin of her shoulder. She was his now, always.

“Adam,” she pleaded. Her voice held a keening edge and the telltale skip of her heartbeat told him she was close.

He thrust harder, grinding against her, his own body aching for release. She clamped down, the spasms rocking her wildly against him as she cried out. His orgasm followed on the heels of hers.

Adam arched up onto his elbows, planted himself deep inside and roared as the tingle in his spine spread out to take him over.

“Demo,” her name slid out on a breathless whisper. He rolled slowly to stretch her out over him and folded his arms over her while catching his breath.

Everything in the room seemed clearer, like his DNA was given an extra vitamin book. Even stroking her back he could almost feel the blood moving under her skin.

“Wow, that wasn’t in the tour.” He reached down, pulling the blanket up to cover them.

“Hmm, what tour?” she asked and he kissed her softly. “Can we stay like this forever?”

“Anything you want, baby.” He felt his heart skip but ignored it. “I meant the tour about the changes the DNA did to us.” His heart skipped again, darkness encroached on his vision. Suddenly, he realized what it meant but time had run out to explain. “Shit, Demo… I’m sorry.”

“So much for cuddling after,” Demonica laughed softly as she slid to the mattress beside Adam. His chest rose and fell with each breath confirming he’d fallen asleep and not died on her.

Flopping onto her back, she lay beside him with a silly, satisfied grin on her face. He’d claimed her. Sure, it hadn’t gone one hundred percent as she’d expected but, he had done it and now she belonged to him forever. Beelzebub and all the other demons in line behind him could go find another heiress to harass – Lucifer’s daughter was officially off the market, boys.

A loud bark drew her attention to the bank of windows behind her bed and Demo laughed when she looked over. Sheoul’s muzzle pressed to the glass, tongue lolling out the side as he whined for attention.

“Oh, alright,” she huffed and rolled out of bed. “I’ll take you two for a run before you destroy the yard.”

The hound barked again and scrambled away to find his companion. Demonica laughed and pulled out the small notebook she kept in the bedside table. She penned a short note for Adam with her whereabouts in case he woke up before she returned.

~*~

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Danielle Gavan
Urban Fantasy and Erotic Romance Author

Ardeur ~ Tarnishes Tiaras ~ Cursed ~ Unwrapped

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The Choice

2011-11-17T00:05:00.000-08:00

After twenty-seven hours of labor, Gabrielle Anderson delivered a tiny baby boy and then collapsed from exhaustion.

Moments later, the nurse returned with the infant. “He’s beautiful,” she said as she handed him over.

Gabrielle cuddled the infant close for a few brief minutes before the nurse came back for him. He was perfect, a replica of his father. “I want to keep him with me.” God, she didn’t want to let them take him.

“He’ll be fine. He needs to be checked out and you need to be taken care of,” the nurse scolded. “You’ll have him back in no time at all.”

Because she had no choice, she relinquished the little bundle.

Her parents waited somewhere outside the delivery room. She had refused to let them in while she gave birth. The idea of her parents watching her deliver a baby went beyond creeping her out. Strangers seeing her splayed wide and vulnerable were bad enough. Family was intolerable. The only one she wanted with her, Kieran, the baby’s father, wasn’t there.

Kieran had failed to show after she’d called his cell and left six frightened messages. She hadn’t planned to give birth at the hospital. Kieran was supposed to take her to a doctor he knew who would deliver the baby, but Kieran hadn’t shown up. Had he abandoned her at the eleventh hour? Or had something even more sinister taken place?

What was going to happen when the hospital staff found out? It didn’t take a genius to know her family would go off the deep end when they learned the truth. But that wasn’t important at the moment.

“Okay, honey,” a young intern said. “We need to finish up here.”

***

By the time the doctor left, Gabrielle was close to panic.

How long did it take the tests to come back? An hour? A day? She had no idea. And then what? What would they do then? She swallowed hard. She couldn’t just lay there and let things play out.

A light knock interrupted her worries but didn’t push them away.

“Baby,” her mother gushed as she and Gabrielle’s father came into the room. Both wore big smiles despite the way they had treated her during her pregnancy. But then, she had refused to divulge the name of the father. That had resulted in her parents accusing her of being a whore and sleeping with so many boys she didn’t know which of them had sired her bastard child.

“He’s so beautiful. Tiny, but perfect,” her mother said. “Have you decided on a name? He needs a name, darling.”

“I’m naming him Fale.”

“What kind of crazy name is that?” her father asked.

“It’s his grandfather’s name.”

“Ah, so you do know the father. He glanced at her mother. “When is he coming to see his child?”

“I don’t know.” She wished her parents would go home. God, how she wished it.

“That figures,” her mother said. “He has no intention of taking care of his obligations. Does he?”

“Something must have happened. He would have come.” She tried hard to keep her lip from quivering. She was sure he would have come for the birth of his child, though he would have been forced to leave before she delivered.

“Please. Do you think your father and I were born yesterday? That bastard has abandoned you and the baby.”

“No. He wouldn’t do that.” She didn’t know that for an absolute fact but she had to defend him until she knew there was a reason not to. He’d always been good to her. He’d never lied or sugarcoated anything. Why would he do something like that now? He wouldn’t.

“You’re a damn fool if you believe that,” her father said.

“No. I know him better than that.”

Something had almost surely happened to him. With the way things were, his life was in constant danger, even from his own kind. He was young, only twenty years old. Any number of horrible things could have happened.

Oh God. Please let him be okay.

“Sure you do,” he said.

Please go away. “I know him.”

She’d had no idea of the suffering and hardship the vampire community lived under until she’d fallen in love with one. Everything she’d been taught was wrong. Kieran was handsome, kind, and thoughtful. And he loved her.

He tricked you once. A little voice whispered. He had sex with you so many times you lost count when he knew you were fertile.

True. But it had come from the male vampire’s instinctive drive to mate when a female was ready. And she had been ready. Could she blame him for doing what was nothing more than inborn response?

Regardless of how it had happened, he had impregnated her with a half-vampire. And once Fale’s genetics were uncovered, he would be subject to being taken by the government. They had started pressuring mothers to give up newborn halfbreeds three months into her pregnancy with no outcry whatsoever from the human population.

What happened to those babies? She shuddered under the blankets. What happened when an infant was taken away? As if there could be any doubt of the outcome. They sure as hell weren’t taking babies because they had nothing better to do.

They were taking them and killing them. She was sure of it. And once they knew what Fale was, they would kill him, too, because she was exactly one week from her eighteenth birthday. Her parents would be given the choice. Not her. And her parents would not want a half-vampire grandchild.

The door burst open and a flustered looking woman in a suit bustled in. She didn’t even look at Gabrielle. She addressed Gabrielle’s parents instead. “Are you her parents?” she asked with distain in her tone.

“We are,” he father said. To his credit, he at least looked concerned.

Gabrielle’s stomach clenched. Oh, God.

“Are you aware that your daughter has given birth to a half-vampire?”

For a moment, her parents were stunned into silence. Then her mother actually swayed on her feet before her father’s arm shot around her. Their eyes drilled into Gabrielle.

The woman cleared her throat, then ignoring Gabrielle, spoke directly to her father, “As you may be aware, because your daughter is not yet eighteen, you have the legal right to make the decision of whether or not to turn the baby over to the state. It’s highly recommended that halfbreeds not be taken home by human families.”

“We weren’t aware of this,” her father said, he glanced at Gabrielle with steel in his eyes.

“I’m sure you can imagine the trouble this is inviting if you take the child home,” she said. “Do you want the father becoming part of your lives? I feel it’s only right to make you understand how this can hurt you within your community.” She looked down her nose at Gabrielle. “After all, your daughter has been having relations with a vampire. It won’t go unnoticed.”

Her parents looked at each other.

“No!” Gabrielle said. “You’re not taking my baby. He’s mine.”

“Gabby,” her mother said soothingly. “This is for the best. For everyone. You can get on with your life instead of having it ruined.”

“I’m not giving up my baby.”

“Dear,” the social worker said. “This isn’t your decision. You are only seventeen years old. Your parents are your legal guardians and it’s their decision.” She looked expectantly at Gabrielle’s father.

“We don’t want him. Take him and do whatever you do with the little bastards.”

***

Gabrielle awoke several hours later. After becoming hysterical, two male nurses had come and forcibly sedated her. Now her parents were gone and the room was quiet. Her baby. Her precious little baby. What had they done with him?

Tears leaked from her eyes. God, she needed Kieran. Where was he?

A soft knock at the door preceded a gray head poking in. “Miss, are you hungry? You didn’t fill out a menu for dinner.” An older woman stepped into the room.

“I don’t want anything,” Gabrielle said in a tear filled voice.

“Child, are you the one who gave birth to the halfbreed?” She didn’t look judgmental, only concerned.

Gabrielle nodded.

“Didn’t you want to give up your baby?”

“No. God no. I want my baby more than anything.”

“It’s not too late,” the old woman said. “At least it wasn’t when I came by the holding room.”

“What are you talking about?” Ice formed in Gabrielle’s stomach.

“Turn left out of here. Go to the elevator and get off in the sub-basement. Your baby is down there. Turn right off the elevator. There’s a little room at the end of the hall. Surrendered halfbreeds and kept there until someone comes for them. You need to hurry.”

Heart thudding, she asked, “What happens to them?” She had to know.

“They’re picked up by Wolf Guards.”

Gabrielle moaned and thought she might faint.

“The hospital won’t kill them. So they turn them over to someone who will. Your baby won’t make it out of the building. He’ll be killed and incinerated like a piece of garbage.”

Gabrielle struggled from her bed and reached for her clothes. Lightheadedness settled over her, threatening to take her down. She fought to steady herself. Now was not the time for weakness. She had to save her baby.

The woman closed the door and left Gabrielle alone.

She managed to dress and peeked out into the hall. Would anyone try to stop her? She looked up and down the corridor. A few visitors strolled from a room and went on their way. A doctor studied a chart and an orderly pushed a wheelchair, transporting a woman holding a baby. No nurses were in sight. She found that reassuring. Wouldn’t a nurse be the most likely to question her? Yeah, she was pretty sure of it.

She slipped from the room and hurried as fast as she was able toward the elevators. She made it down the hall without incident and poked the button. The sliver doors slid open silently and she escaped inside.

Please dear, God, let me be in time. They prayer ran through her head in a continuous litany as the car slid to a stop in the subbasement. She homed in on the room where her baby had been taken.

What if someone was in there with him?

She stopped, totally at a loss.

Then with a mother’s determination, she began searching for a weapon. Anything. Three large trash bins sat along the wall. She looked into the first one. Nothing but discarded bedding. The second bin contained more promising contents. After a few moments of fishing, she pulled out a broken mop handle. It wasn’t much of a weapon but she was fairly strong. Perhaps she could use it like a baseball bat and clean someone’s clock with it if necessary. She would do anything she had to. It might not work but she would try.

As she neared the room, her heart almost stopped in her chest. A deep male voice spoke in a one sided, heated conversation. Someone on a phone? As she neared on silent feet, the unseen male bellowed, “As soon as I take care of this brat, I’m coming home for you.”

Oh, Jesus, did he mean her baby? Of course he did.

Mop handle raised, she charged forward and burst through the door.

A huge male vampire stood over a little plastic bassinet. Inside, her son waved tiny arms, his little hands curled into tight fists.

The vampire still had the phone stuck to his ear. He wore the uniform of a Wolf Guard. A government vampire toady, traitor to their own kind, they were despised within the vampire community.

The vampire shoved the phone in his pocket, raked over her with a head to toe stare, then burst out laughing. “You must be momma to this half-bred mongrel. Where’s its father? Leave you high and dry?”

“Get the hell away from my baby,” she hissed and raised the weapon in a threatening manner.

“You don’t really expect me to be afraid of you?” He took two steps, closing the distance between them before she even registered that he had moved. He grasped her pitiful weapon and wrenched it from her grasp.

She lurched around him, dodging as he reached for her, and put herself between him and Fale. “Stay away from him.”

“You had best remove yourself before you get hurt. I’m not into hurting human females, they’re too fragile, but if you don’t cooperate, you may become collateral damage of your own doing.”

She gaped at him, not quite sure she’d heard him correctly. “You don’t want to hurt a female but you’re more than willing to murder an innocent baby?”

“Only the males.”

As if that was supposed to make some kind of difference.

“Females of your species serve a purpose a male vampire can appreciate.” He gave her a big smirk. “I’ve had dozens of human women and found most of them to my liking.”

She shuddered.

“Don’t worry. I’m not interested in a woman in a post-delivery condition. But that brings us back to the job at hand. You want to step aside because I’m taking him.”

“You’re not touching my baby.” She crouched slightly.

“He isn’t wanted in the vampire community. His father doesn’t even want him because of his diluted blood. And he sure as fuck isn’t welcome in the human community. I’ll kill him quickly and I’ll be doing him a favor.”

She screeched and charged the mountain sized killer. A second later she found herself sailing through the air. Her flight came to an abrupt halt when she hit the wall and dropped to the cold tile. Pain shot through her forearm and hip but she didn’t think either was broken. Didn’t matter if they were. She had to get up.

The vampire stood, legs braced, apparently waiting to see if she managed to get on her feet to try again.

She struggled to get her legs under her. Pain sent bright dots winking off and on before her eyes.

The door slammed inward, banging off the wall and ricocheting only to be shoved out of the way as Kieran launched into the room, bellowing with rage.

The Wolf was taken by surprise but only for a second. He leapt forward and plowed into Kieran. They crashed to the floor in a tangled sprawl.

Gabrielle scooped Fale from the tiny bassinet and turned to flee but she couldn’t leave Kieran. With the baby clutched to her chest, instinct urged her to run. She stood poised, ready to take flight as the combatants struggled.

Kieran was years younger, pounds lighter, and much less experienced, but amazingly, he was holding his own against the Wolf. But for how long? Anger had given him an edge but it wasn’t enough to sustain him for long. She knew this without a doubt. Already Kieran’s shirt was soaked with his blood and he was slowing.

The Wolf would kill him and take her baby and maybe kill her, too. Not that it would matter if she lost the baby and Kieran. Not if she saw them murdered right in front of her.

No. She wasn’t going to let it happen. Almost in slow motion she scanned the room, missing nothing. And salvation was right there waiting for her to see it. A heavy doctor’s lamp. She laid Fale back in the bassinet. He sputtered but didn’t burst into wails for which she was thankful.

She grabbed the heavy lamp with both hands and lifted its surprising weight. She turned it over, and with the base, the business end, held upright, she charged the grappling vampires. The Wolf had Kieran pinned down and as she made her move, the Wolf sank his fangs into Kieran’s throat and ripped.

Kieran let out a yelp of pain and struggled furiously under the bigger vampire. Blood gushed from the wound in his throat.

Now! Now. She had to strike or Kieran was done.

Or was he?

Despite the injury, he tore at the Wolf, ripping a great wound in his chest.

The Wolf bellowed.

She lifted the lamp as high as she could. Then brought it down. The sick thud of the base striking the Wolf’s head was loud. He froze. His eyes lifted to hers then rolled up in his head. Then Kieran’s hands locked on him and with a grunt, he flipped the Wolf off him. The big vampire crashed to the floor and lay motionless.

Kieran and Gabrielle stared at the big body. He wasn’t dead, just knocked senseless. Then they looked at each other. Kieran was covered with blood and bruises. He held a hand to the wound at his throat.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Yes. You?”

“Yeah. I’m okay,” she said.

“Come on. Get the baby. We have to get out of here.”

“I can’t go home,” she said even as she scooped up Fale.

“You aren’t going with them. You’re coming with me,” he said. Then he looked uncertain. “I mean, I want you to. Will you come with me? Be my mate? I know I can’t offer you the life a human would, but I love you and I want us to be a family. And I can give you something no human can. I can’t turn you, but I know how to keep you young.”

“Where were you?” She wailed. “I needed you and you weren’t here?”

“I went to see about a place for us to live. I couldn’t make it back before dawn. I’m so sorry. I got here as soon as I could.”

“You were almost too late,” she said.

“I would have been if some old lady hadn’t told me where to find you. I’m so sorry.”

He was here now though. He’d come for her and he wanted them to be a family. She wanted that, too.

“Come on, Kieran. Take me and your son home.”

~ Nickie Asher ~

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Land of the Blind (Chapter 2 -- Part I)

2011-11-14T00:01:00.000-08:00

Recap: In Chapter One, the Praetorians celebrated the death of Devereaux Marshall Fox at their heavily-fortified underground headquarters. In the midst of a toast, Fox waltzed in, seemingly past tight security, and almost completely annihilated one the strongest military special operations forces in the world.

By Gregory Marshall Smith

Chapter 2

Eight years later

“Blah, blah, blah, budget limits.”

Colonel Nia Mavromichalis sat silently, listening to the Federation parliamentarians drone on about the budget. She’d always hated these meetings because it meant civilians with no idea of what the Praetorians experienced on a daily basis got to scrutinize her budget requests. They didn’t know that it cost a lot to keep them safe and comfortable.

“Why should we fund all of this blah, blah, blah,” another voice seemed to say, as the colonel barely refrained from rolling her eyes and tried to look somewhat interested.

This time around, however, Mavromichalis was not the one being grilled. Up until the previous week, she had been commanding officer of the Praetorian Guard. Despite her reservations, she'd done an excellent job rebuilding the ranks by recruiting new soldiers out of the ranks of the Federation’s regular Special Forces. She’d accomplished a lot in only five years, vastly increasing the force’s morale and professionalism to the point that other countries began to take notice of it again.

Fortunately, just as the command threatened to put more wrinkles around her eyes and gray hairs in her 43-year old head, she was replaced. The Joint Chiefs had finally found someone to willing to take over and, strangely enough, she was actually glad. She’d wanted to make flag rank, just to have the accomplishment on her record. If, however, making flag rank meant she’d have to continue with such a grueling chore as running the Praetorians, then she wasn’t quite sure she was up to the task anymore.

“I would also like to thank Colonel Mavromichalis for her patience in enduring these budget meetings for the past few years,” one of the parliamentarians announced, forcing the colonel to look up and fake a smile.

At more than six feet in height, Mavromichalis sported a muscular figure that, coupled with an authoritative demeanor completely foreign to the innocence of her beauty, made her well-respected among her peers. She had many friends among the Federation’s law enforcement and military groups. However, her political skills were about as real as her smiles.

No, she had to admit to herself, she was actually ready for a change. Too bad her bosses were not. For reasons still not fully explained by the Joint Chiefs, she had been retained within the unit as its executive officer. She couldn't imagine a worse scenario than a new commander having the old one looking over his shoulder. She'd heard plenty of rumors about the man who had replaced her and she knew that, at some levels, internal politics within the Pentagon had played a role in her retention.

“I, too, have acknowledged the valuable contributions Colonel Mavromichalis has made in rebuilding the Praetorians,” a rather professional and stern voice cut in. “Though it was an unusual move for her to stay on, I do believe that she and I can work together for a more effective unit.”

Mavromichalis looked to her left for the source of the obvious lie and saw a man in full Praetorian dress uniform sitting behind a table, looking right at the parliamentarians. He was not even six feet tall, but he more than made up for his short stature with an overwhelmingly confident demeanor. His features were Chinese, which was a rarity in a world where mixing of the races was the rule. His hair had only just started to turn gray, but Mavromichalis knew that, just like herself, the gray had come from stress, not age. He was only three months shy of 55.

Mavromichalis had only met Brigadier General Kober Chiang once prior to his appointment as her successor and that had been enough. He had a forceful presence that told everyone, with a single glance, exactly who was in command. He also had mysterious eyes and the colonel shivered slightly at the memory of seeing them for the first time. The man hid a powerful agenda behind those eyes and she didn’t doubt his ability to carry through with that agenda.

Whatever that plan was, the man had begun making immediate changes. He’d brought in many of his own people from outside the force to help him run things. Mavromichalis knew a few of them and she didn’t like what she saw. A part of her said it was beginning to look more like the Praetorians were a special bodyguard for the Federation’s secret forces and not for its citizens.

“So, General Chiang, can you tell us why we need to spend so much of the Federation’s hard-earned credits on your budget?” Parliamentarian chief Annabeth Lawrence inquired. “Do we have enemies you have not yet seen fit to warn us about?”

“The budget is needed to keep the Federation safe, Madam Parliamentarian,” Chiang said, after a short pause, his voice strong, deep and purposeful. “We do have many who would wish us either harm or to replace us in the hierarchy of world power.”

“I understand that, General,” Lawrence countered, but without too much concern. “But, this budget has figures that would seem to say that you’re going on the offensive. And I don’t mean going out after designer drug dealers or trying to be proactive in the espionage arena. You seem to have some grandiose plans.”

“Madam Parliamentarian, I only seek to ensure that my…excuse me…our beloved Federation does not fall from the ranks of world power,” Chiang replied, unfazed by Lawrence’s insinuations. “I see many old problems resurfacing because of some huge setbacks we’ve had over the years. This has manifested itself into some possible scenarios.”

“Okay, I’ll give you some leeway on this, General,” Lawrence stated, leaning back in her ergonomic chair. “What are the scenarios?”

“First of all, Madam Parliamentarian,” Chiang began, “let us look at some hard, fast facts of this world and, I may point out, the worlds beyond Earth. In this year of our Lord, 2150, eighty-three percent of the nations are democratic and practice free trade and open markets, although some are now trying to restrict that fact.

“Hunger and poverty are virtually non-existent, have been for decades. Yet, the World Health Organization has warned that these blights are beginning to reappear in some parts of the planet. Innovation drives the world economy, but the seven-percent annual growth of the gross domestic product has slowed to four percent. In the last Federation budget, it was actually suggested that education, which has been free online since 2040, might be taxed to offset deficits. Only a decade ago, ninety-three percent of the nations were democratic, so we have lost 10 percent to anarchy. I won’t belabor the point, but we are in real danger of reversing the trends that have helped run the world successfully for the last 100 or so years.”

Mavromichalis was impressed. The general had done his homework. She could see that the Parliamentarians, many of whom had been on the verge of dozing off, were suddenly alert and listening intently to Chiang. Then again, she thought, the way their parliamentary leader was questioning Chiang, it was no wonder that the junior members were bored. Mavromichalis could picture Lawrence rubber-stamping the entire budget and wondered if the Parliamentarian chief had had a private conversation with the Joint Chiefs before this meeting. She knew that she’d never had any budget meeting this easy when she found herself before Lawrence and her predecessors.

“In the early years of the 21st century, we had three possible scenarios,” Chiang continued. “They were ‘Prosperity, ‘catch-up’ and ‘nation in decline.’ Right now, we need to maintain prosperous sustainability. Innovation must remain highly integrated into our economy. Our education system must keep producing the men and women necessary to keep our way of life going. We must maintain or re-obtain leadership roles in production, global trade, economic growth, patents, industrial competitiveness, scientific research and development, and low unemployment. We must also continue our highly successful and profitable collaboration with industry.

“In the second scenario, we give up the leadership role and fall back on our heels. We begin funding science less, thus harming ourselves financially and health-wise. The economy slows even more and a trade deficit blossoms. In the 20th century, we experienced massive trade deficits with China, Japan and Mexico. By 2015, we had let India join that undistinguished group. Half of the fantastic growth we experienced for the first 50 years of this present growth cycle went to pay off those debts and remove the swords from our throat. But, we have had trade deficits for the third time in the last seven years and for the second straight year.”

“So, to avoid the third scenario of abject failure, poverty and loss of not only prestige, but real power, we need to become more viable,” Chiang went on, matter-of-factly. “That means we must know what our enemies and our competitors are doing. We must protect ourselves against threats that would destroy us. People must have the time and feeling of safety to take full advantage of education, technology and innovation. Crime and terrorism cannot be allowed to interfere and neither can corruption.”

The room was silent for a few moments. If Chiang thought he’d convinced the Parliamentarians, he did not show it on his face. He was always noncommittal with his emotions.

Mavromichalis thought it wise not to challenge him to a game of hi-tech poker. Still, it seemed odd of him to mention the need to root out corruption. She doubted he could have risen through the ranks so fast without accepting that human failing as part of politics.

“Okay, General, I’ll acquiesce on that point,” Lawrence agreed. “Wow, look at the time. I think I speak for the entire Parliament when I say I see no problems approving your budget. Unless there are any other questions – oh, the distinguished gentleman from Stone Mountain has a question. Go ahead, Mr. Ayodeji.”

An elderly man leaned forward in his seat and fixed his eyes upon Lawrence. He seemed more than a bit annoyed that she was going to dismiss the rest of her compatriots and approve the budget without asking for any input. After a few seconds, he moved his gaze over to Chiang.

“While I appreciate my colleague’s zeal to get a budget in place,” Astin Ayodeji began, “there is one thing that has been bothering me. It has been the so-called eight-hundred pound gorilla in the room. If we give you this increased budget, what guarantees can you give me that you will be able to finally put an end to Devereaux Marshall Fox?”

At the mention of Fox’s name, Chiang became visibly moved. It was little better for Mavromichalis, whose one glaring failure had been Fox. Still, the colonel had only been fighting Fox for a decade, not thirty years as Chiang had been, thus far. His fight had begun shortly after the massacre of a village in Mexico. She could only wonder what Chiang would do, now that he had gained control of a force that, on paper, was more than capable of dealing with the Fox.

“Devereaux Marshall Fox or, as the media refer to him, the ‘Adventurer,’ is really the main reason for the budget increase,” Chiang replied, trying to maintain a calm visage. “He is an anarchist of the worst order. Yet, to believe he is merely some crackpot with an inferiority complex would be to commit a grave blunder, much as some of my Praetorian forebears once did. He is one of the most capable, most technologically savvy and most dangerous men alive today. And I don’t think I would be out of line by saying that he may be one of the most dangerous men who ever lived.”

Mavromichalis couldn’t argue against Chiang’s assertions. She’d gone up against Fox on two occasions, springing what should have been textbook ambushes on him. But, it appeared Fox had the same textbook for he managed to spring the traps early and shoot his way clear. For reasons not even the Federation's best intelligence and scientific minds could figure, Fox had taken a lot of punishment and had given nothing but grief in return.

She had made locating Fox a major priority during her time in command, though finding him was one thing. Stopping him was an entirely different ball of wax. She still shivered at the memories of all those funerals she'd attended back in Fort Worth when the Praetorians' greatest achievement had come smashing back in their faces.

“Does this man hate his own country so much?” Ayodeji asked. “I know that he has helped many in my mother continent, but my people have paid a high price for it. What exactly does he hope to gain by his actions?”

“Despite all of our best intelligence and our best psychological profiling, we really do not know that much about the man and what his motivations truly are,” Chiang replied, coolly. “Even after thirty years, I feel that he is still a complete stranger to me.”

Mavromichalis cringed at her new boss’ use of the word “intelligence.” Intelligence had failed miserably in just about every action to hunt down Fox. It had failed abysmally eight years when Anna Velasquez had gunned down a former Federation Marine named Charles Bedard, having mistaken the man for Fox. That he had been secretly working in Africa in some of the same areas as Fox was what put Anna on to him, but, as an investigatory committee had later learned, the man had been helping deliver badly needed food and medicinal aid to villagers affected by a civil war.

Mavromichalis realized that glitch had been bad enough. What happened afterward was worse, for Marshall Fox had simply walked right past the main gate of the naval air station in Fort Worth without anyone even sensing something was out of place. He'd used some unknown device to knock out mansion security, allowing him free access to more than 200 unarmed men and women. She still hadn't figured out how to guard against someone who could do all that.

“Well, General,” Lawrence concluded, “it seems that this will be all. We thank you for your cooperation. We will discuss the budget, but I think I would not be showing favoritism by saying that I foresee no special obstructions. Now, I’m sure we’re all starving and, if you and your staff will join us in the dining room, I can promise you something much more delicious and filling than RDA shakes.”

To be continued Nov. 21, 2011. For more exciting tales, check out the latest issues of Digital Digest at Amazon.

Gregory Marshall Smith

Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror author

Hunters They Call the Wind Muryah DarkTidings

Crawl

Karen Marie Moning's Fever Series, the Review:

2011-11-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

A Review of Karen Marie Moning’s Fever Series

Jennifer Feuerstein

The books on Amazon

Okay, so this Jester Review is going to be a little different. I know there’s a lot of rave attention for this series out there and I had a few people ask me to review it. Honestly, in my humble opinion, it just cannot be done on an individual book basis. If you’re going to read one, you’re going to read them all. Therefore, this review will be a little longer than the average. That being said, let’s jump in…

The Fever Website

Darkfever

Bloodfever

Faefever

Dreamfever

Shadowfever

The Fever Series is a departure from Ms Moning’s usual material. It currently consists of five novels and I’ll talk about each a little bit later. This story line is dark and twisted, definitely not your average paranormal romance. The romance part is more an undercurrent pulling you in without realizing the shore is drifting further away. It is also a first person narrative, which is an interesting spin for a series so dark.

The books’ highlight is the transformation of the title character MacKayla Lane. Certainly not the typical heroine, she has flaws that the books readily use to sweep the rug from under you. I did notice some of her introspections could get a little lengthy or repetitive at times. Did that stop me, hell no! The entire cast of characters is worth mentioning as well-developed. I’ll leave the interesting journey of learning about them up to you. –I’m a stinker that way- The Fever series has a few little stumbles in the beginning, but the ride is definitely worth overlooking those. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions that will have you jumping, crying, and pacing the room like Barrons in a temper. At one point, I called a friend in a panic I had reacted so vividly to what I’d read. For me, this is the mark of a good book. I can forget everything around me and become engrossed in the world the author has painted… and boy was I ever engrossed!

A few words of wisdom: Have all the books ready. Trust me; you’re not going to want to run around finding the books once you start. The second thing I can tell you- If you need to get to bed, do not read the last chapter of Dreamfever. It will only suck you in to reading the first three chapters of Shadowfever. Not like that’s a bad thing… unless you have to work in 5 hours.

Darkfever: The first book wastes no time at getting you hooked on the series. Poor MacKayla is tossed into confusion so fast, it’ll give you whiplash. Her humor and way of coping will keep you laughing and the plot twists will keep you guessing. All while the darkness stalks you…

Bloodfever: For me this book was more interesting because it kept me guessing about the side characters. Seeing them from MacKayla’s ever-changing point of view kept me wondering just who was who. Like those mystery movies where you keep changing your mind about “who done it”.

Faefever: Just when things get kind of predictable and you’re screaming “the Butler did it”, Ms Moning gives us this book. In essence, it’ll flip everything you thought you knew on its head and turn the tables on MacKayla.

Dreamfever: Definitely the darkest and most erotic of the five novels, this one will have you questioning just what you’ve gotten yourself into. As I said before, if you have something to do or somewhere to be, stop before the last chapter. To be on the safe side, stop before the last two. Once you start those, you’re not going anywhere.

Shadowfever: This one was not my favorite of the group. It tries to bring everything together and a lot of it ends up being very confusing and almost too much to learn. I did enjoy Mac’s walk on the dark side… but that would require too many spoilers to explain.

Overall, for the entire series: Five out of Five Jester Hats! Yes, this is a “run people over and toss them out of your way to own every one of these books” series. And once hooked, you’re probably not going to be doing much besides reading them. The week it took me is pretty much a blur in my memory… as witnessed in the five hat rating. And the fact that I won’t loan them out…

There is much more I could say about this series, but I don’t want to take up the space especially since I could do a week long review… If you have questions or would like a more detailed review/opinion, please feel free to comment or email me. I’m always happy to discuss the exploits of my bookworm addiction.

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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Story of Sebastian, Chapter Five

2011-11-06T04:00:00.000-08:00

Story of Sebastian, Chapter Five

Features adult language.

When we last saw Sebastian on October 2^nd, he’d found Paul’s target and was preparing for his first fight as an angel.

Sebastian found a quiet spot, out of sight of his new companion. He didn’t want to scare her or make her think he was inept. He had a feeling she’d be more bothered by the latter. He wondered how to find out about his powers and settled for testing his old skills first.

He concentrated on trying to do all the things he could before his death. Thankfully, they all seemed to work. Not so thankfully, they only worked as well as they had in his first life. Sebastian rolled his shoulders and shook out his hands. Since he’d never bothered to practice them, they weren’t his best option. He wasn’t going to be much help this way.

Gods, he wished he had a sword. Sebastian choked back a startled cry as his sword appeared in his hand. He twirled it around, comforted by the familiar motions. He concentrated again and it disappeared. He took a calming breath and puzzled over this new development. Maybe the thought had triggered it?

Sword, the word rattled in Sebastian’s brain and he watched as it appeared to grow out of his hand. So, the weapon was tied to his essence somehow, meaning he’d always be armed. The thought was reassuring. He practiced a few more times until darkness began to close in. Even though magic wasn’t his strong skill, he was able to summon the sword quickly when he’d finished practicing.

Sebastian marched back toward the fire and the girl next to it. Sorcha looked up as he approached. “You okay?”

“Just getting prepared,” he hedged as he sat again.

“For what?”

“You seriously think I’m just going to watch you battle who knows how many of those things?”

“Maybe you should watch and learn,” she grinned.

Damn, she was really looking forward to the coming fight. Sebastian wondered what made her eager as he watched Sorcha stoke the fire. When she smiled wider something rang out in his head, begging to be acknowledged. He pushed the memory aside, wanting to focus on the fight ahead.

Sure enough, the shadows moved in around them. So intent on tracking them, he barely heard her whispered order not to move. Right, they were supposed to be clueless humans. His sword hand itched and Sebastian found himself wanting to do battle as much as she did. Old yearnings for blood and battle welled up and demanded release. Judging the movements around them, there were definitely a lot out of dark ones to unleash his frustration on.

Careful to use only his gaze to track them, he watched the shadows creep closer and tighter around them. Sebastian’s focus returned to the woman across from him, noticing she observed them with the same skill. One moved close to smell her and he wondered exactly how long the bloody woman would wait to strike out.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as a claw sifted through Sorcha’s long red hair. The woman was definitely crazy. Before the thought finished, her short sword snaked around and the clawed hand fell to the ground. Unearthly screams lit the air—the dark ones’ battle cry—and Sebastian stood to pounce. The sword’s appearance at his side was instinctual and immediate.

He needn’t have worried. Sorcha held her own against five enemies as he was attacked. Sebastian fought like a madman, ignoring the knowledge that he couldn’t be killed. Dark one’s claws were poisonous and he couldn’t run the risk of being incapacitated. Not when Sorcha’s life hung in the balance.

Sebastian dropped a dark one with a thrust of his sword, kicking the pieces into the fire. The flames rose with the addition and the shadows shrank from it. He quickly killed another one and added it to the fire. Even the small light would be enough to create a safe zone. Who knew Grylocks were so flammable?

Sorcha’s yell cut off his smirk. “You’re scaring them off, you idiot!”

He watched as the fire died suddenly, under her influence no doubt. The woman really was nuts, a walking death wish. His eyes adjusted to the light of the semi-full moon above them. Sebastian scrutinized the battle as her form disappeared and reappeared among the remaining shadows. She had raw talent and senseless luck on her side, but she needed some more practice.

After dispatching his last opponent, he admired her drive. Sorcha never surrendered and never seemed to tire. Sebastian finally broke through and started fighting at her back. They mirrored each other’s movements, the dance continuing until the shadows stopped attacking. Then the fire flared back to life, a bonfire in the desert.

Sebastian took in her smiling face and shaking arms. Sorcha’s panting proved she was winded, but still she moved methodically to study their perimeter before resting. Abruptly, she jumped up and let out a shout of triumph. Sebastian’s eyebrows rose as she danced a victory lap around the fire.

“Happy much?”

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken until she stopped and blushed. “Sorry, I’m not used to an audience. I’ve been doing this alone for so long.”

Sebastian felt like he’d been slapped in the face. The memories he’d ignored earlier rose unbidden and uncontrollable.

Meeting Dubhan, fighting beside him, and Dubhan saying he’d been alone a long time. Dubhan drunkenly rambling about a woman with red hair and green eyes. Dubhan staring up at him from a dungeon. “Just get yourself out of here and find Sorcha…Sorcha, tell her—shit— tell her I messed up okay. Tell her I’m a rotten fucking person and she deserves a whole lot better…”

Sebastian’s head rolled on his shoulders. He moved to a spot clear of bodies and dropped his ass into the dust. His last few minutes of life were still foggy, but why hadn’t he put two and two together when Paul had ordered him to find Sorcha? He groaned—because Dubhan had only used her name twice in all their years together. Maybe it was a different girl?

Sebastian thought over everything he knew about both of them. Her fighting style was almost identical to Dubhan’s and she used similar weapons and tactics. Dubhan must have noticed her real talent and trained her. She’d settled into cleaning her weapons, completely ignoring him, and even that routine reminded Sebastian of his only friend. She had to be Dubhan’s Sorcha—there were too many coincidences.

An idea formed in his mind and Sebastian smiled at her. She might be the damnation of him, but maybe, just maybe, she could be Dubhan’s salvation. Sebastian knew he had to move quickly before Paul chimed in with orders. The plan was sound but missing a timeline.

First up, Sorcha needed more training. Raw talent and a few tricks wouldn’t defeat the dark sorcerer holding Dubhan captive. Sebastian acknowledged he still had to learn about his new gifts. Not to mention, figure out the rules of the game he was playing. Good thing rules always had loop holes. The trick would be finding them in time.

Sebastian felt a shiver of awareness and glanced up to see her looming over him. “Headache?” she asked.

He shook his head, trying to avoid the choice between lying and explaining.

“Message from the Gods?” she asked sarcastically.

A slow grin spread as his plan got a jumpstart. “Hard to get anything by you.”

“Really?” She quickly hid the excitement. “I wasn’t sure how it worked.”

“Yep. We need to get a move on. How do you prefer to travel?” Sebastian looked around.

Sorcha began moving and motioned for him. Sebastian followed her over to an old jeep on the edge of camp. As she patted the seat, he groaned.

“What, no love for antiques?”

“Has this thing run since WW2?” Sebastian thought it came right out of a warzone.

“Have some faith.” She tied a bag down in the back and pointed to the passenger seat. “Hop in and tell me where to go.”

Sebastian held on for dear life as the thing bounced over the rough trails when she broke the silence again. He asked her to repeat it because he wasn’t sure he heard right.

“Sorry, I was talking out loud,” she answered. “I like to spend my driving cussing out the son of bitch that got me in this predicament.”

“What son of a bitch? What’d he do?”

She shrugged and turned hard to avoid a boulder. Sebastian was pretty sure he left his stomach behind, the simple lap belt digging into his gut as the jeep righted itself. He silently prayed they hit roads soon.

Sorcha swerved again. “Men are fucking bastards! Love you, leave you, and tell you it’s for the best. How the hell is a broken heart better?”

Sebastian wisely kept his mouth shut and let her carry on with her tirade. There was certainly no love lost for Dubhan. He’d have to be careful to leave his friend’s name out of the discussion. At times though he wondered if Sorcha was trying to convince herself of everything she ranted. Maybe all wasn’t lost.

“So what’s your story?” She turned her attention to him.

“Not much to tell. This is a recent change for me, still learning. I do know I need your help.” He answered as honestly as he could. “I’m just kind of doing this as I go.”

“So where exactly are we headed?”

“We have to work our way to Ireland. Your first mission is there.”

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?” She asked.

“You need training.” Her icy stare would have killed him cold if someone hadn’t beaten her to it. “You’re good, but you’ll need to be better.”

“Fuck. Off.”

Sebastian went back to being quiet, thankful when the tires slid onto asphalt. This was going to be a barrel of fun. It was obvious she would be super accommodating and help him out of the goodness of her heart. He kicked the rusty floorboard as his inner sarcasm burned, but Sebastian remained silent.

“Don’t kick the jeep. It likes to kick back…”

Sebastian barely held on as she sent the jeep into a series of swerves and donuts. Somehow he knew she wanted to launch him out of her rust bucket and he refused to get airborne. He fought the urge to leap from the vehicle and kiss the ground when the tires finally stopped squealing.

Instead he smiled calmly back at her. “Feel better? You still need more training.”

“You’re going to be hard to get rid of, aren’t you?”

“You’ll grow to like me.” He winked.

“Great.” She snorted as she slid the jeep back into drive and slammed the gas.

It’d been weeks since he’d first found Sorcha and Sebastian was worried. He hadn’t heard back from Paul yet and he knew the fucker wasn’t dead. All the rules of servitude still applied and he was pretty sure they would have lifted if Paul died. Sorcha had greatly improved on her fighting and he knew it was more to spite him. He didn’t care the reason, he wanted her progress.

“Are we done on this boat ride from hell yet?” Sorcha’s head popped back up over the railing.

He hid a smile. Sorcha, it turned out, was not very seaworthy. “We’re almost there.”

Her head nodded once before it disappeared again. The sound made Sebastian’s own stomach churn and he stepped back a few paces to stare into the horizon.

“Don’t worry, we’re coming,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Can’t we just shimmer the rest of the way?”

Shimmering was what her people called moving through space. Sebastian almost took pity on her. Almost. It was sort of karmic retribution for the trouble she’d been. Every time they’d trained, she’d tried at least once to kill him. Shamefully, he liked her resolve.

“Please,” she pleaded.

Sebastian sighed and explained it again. “Then we’d be missed on the boat. This was your idea after all.” His reminder earned him another dirty look, comical with the green cast to her skin. “I’ll see if I can find you some crackers.”

The mere mention of food had her lurching over the side again. Sebastian went to look for something she might be able to keep down.

The captain bumped him and stopped. “Sorry. Your sister still not on her sea legs?”

Sebastian grinned at the ruse. Being siblings gave them the excuse to bicker constantly. “Only if her sea legs have a permanent place at the boat’s rails.”

The captain nodded. “Tell the cook I sent you to the kitchens. Get the poor girl some ginger ale and crackers. I’ll see if the medical staff can send something to her room.”

He knew the captain meant sedatives or anti-nausea medication. Usually Sebastian would have turned it down with the danger they faced, but he was willing to knock her out with a hammer at this point. Sebastian shook the man’s hand and thanked him, turning to retrieve Sorcha from the edge.

He looked around and didn’t spot her. If she shimmered or disappeared off the side of the boat, he was going to strangle her. Thankfully, Sebastian hadn’t informed her that by thinking of her he could find her. He hurried to the location, worried she wasn’t on the move.

Sorcha was passed out in a deck chair, her skin a blue-green shade. The poor girl was probably freezing and dehydrated. Sebastian shook his shoulders out and picked her up carefully, nervous when she didn’t stir. Noticing her chapped, dry lips for the first time, he felt like a bastard. He was really just using her in this little side trip and he didn’t like the new feeling of guilt.

Afraid to leave her alone too long, he carried her back to their little room and phoned the kitchens instead. As he studied her breathing, he began to wonder if Paul was leaving them alone long enough for Sebastian to form an attachment to the little chit. It would be diabolical enough. Let the hunter start liking the prey and then order him to kill her. The worst part—Sebastian knew he couldn’t disobey a direct order. Gods, this was a new kind of hell.

Return for the continuation of Sebastian’s story on December4th, here on Digital Digest. For more fantastic reads, check out our ebooks from Amazon and B&N!

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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2011-10-28T06:14:00.000-07:00

Hunt or Be Hunted
By
Rachel Lynne

Ray Henderson accepted his beer from the bartender and rolled his eyes at the tour guide’s spiel. What kind of moron bought that load of bull shit? He smirked as his gaze fell on Chrissie’s enthralled face. Apparently, morons like his wife, and, judging by the enthusiastic crowd, she wasn’t alone in her obsession with all things paranormal.

Ray shook his head. He was surrounded by a bunch of losers. What a great way to spend Halloween. He tuned out the tour guide and examined the bar. With its rough brick walls and scarred floors, the Crescent River Brewing Company delivered on the historic and slightly creepy atmosphere conducive to ghost tours. He took a sip of beer and grimaced. Too bad they couldn’t claim the same with their microbrews; though in fairness he hated even the regular stuff so one imbued with the essence of rosemary was probably not destined to change his opinion.

Chrissie caught his gaze and grinned, her face glowing with happiness. So much for trying to convince her that the tour was lame and they should go home. It was going to be a long night. Ray sighed and looked around for an empty seat. Judging by the capacity crowd, he was the only one who felt the beer left a lot to be desired and ghost hunting was a crock of crap. The joint was a sea of crazy costumes. The raucous crowd seemed to have been celebrating all day; in hindsight, taking a haunted pub tour on Halloween night was not such a great idea.

Ray shoved his way through the throng as a woman dressed like a happy hooker vacated a bar stool. He planted himself in front of the big screen and tried to tune out the bat shit crazy chatter of the ghost obsessed group.

Chrissie could take the tour without him. He snorted and took another swig of the swill masquerading as beer. Damn tour had cost him sixty big ones. She should be grateful he’d forked over the blunt because God knew he could have found a better way to spend his hard earned money.

The sweater he’d seen at Marc Jacobs flashed in his mind. He would look great in pumpkin colored cashmere; chic and successful. Not everyone could afford cashmere, especially from Marc Jacobs, and wearing something like that would surely get him noticed. He should be manager of the WFI telecom store. Hadn’t he gone to college? An associate degree from Savannah Business University should have counted for something.

He gritted his teeth. Damn Chrissie and her whining. He should have told her to get a job if she wanted to go on the damn tour. It wasn’t like he didn’t provide for her. Hell, she had a roof over her head, food on the table, and enough bus fare to get to the store once a week. She should be grateful.

He blinked as a bevy of camera flashes blinded him. Ah, what the hell … he turned to see a cluster of nut jobs, his wife prominent among them, madly snapping pictures of something behind him. He scowled at Chrissie and opened his mouth, but the tour guide’s words halted the rebuke forming on his lips.

“The area behind the bar has been the site of frequent visitations. Many of our servers and bar staff have experienced cold spots and several have reported items disappearing. One staff member, closing the bar for the night, saw a shadowy outline of a man smoking a pipe. When she moved closer to investigate, the shadow emitted a piercing scream and rushed toward her before evaporating.” The guide’s lips twisted into a faint smile. “I’m sorry to say that server gave notice that night and left the employ of Crescent River.”

Oohs, ahs, and nervous laughter erupted from the crowd. Chrissie sidled closer to Ray and squeezed his hand.

Ray snorted. “Ya’ll believe that and I’ve got ocean front property in Iowa with your name on it.” The guide and several tour members scowled at him. Ray sneered. Bunch of idiots and gullible fools.

He shook off his wife’s hand and tried to turn back toward the TV, but Chrissie grabbed his elbow and tugged. “Come on, Ray. They’re gonna take us upstairs!”
“Go on. I’m gonna watch the game.”

Chrissie’s lip trembled and tears welled in her big blue eyes. “But, you promised! It’s my birthday present …” Her voice rose with her distress, drawing the gaze of two well-dressed men sitting close by.

Ray gritted his teeth and slid off of the stool. He could have cared less about disappointing Chrissie, but the reproach he saw in the eyes of the business men – he couldn’t risk marring his public image. You never could tell who was watching or how they might be useful someday.

He joined the throng of ghost hunters, staying well to the back, but the guide’s words still reached his ears. “Crescent River Brewing Company is located in what used to be the City Hotel. The first place to offer rented rooms in Savannah, it also functioned as the city’s post office, bank, and bar.” The thin young man adjusted his Confederate cap and grinned. “A lot of interesting characters have called this place home, which explains the lively paranormal activity we see today.” He motioned for the group to follow and walked toward the pool table area.

Ray smirked and wondered what ‘activity’ would be produced for their benefit. From what he’d heard, the brewing company tour rarely failed to deliver thrills. A woman shrieked. Ray made his way to the front of the line in time to see a cue ball rolling back and forth across the green felt, apparently of its own volition.

“As you can imagine, the City Hotel was a popular place for Savannahians to imbibe and that was often accompanied by a desire to gamble. The hotel became a hangout for professional card sharps.” Their guide nodded toward the pool table. “On several occasions, people sensitive to paranormal entities have reported a ‘heavy’ or menacing presence in this area and even regular patrons have confessed to seeing the shadowy outline of a human head and torso near the stairs. We’re in luck tonight because our spirit seems to be offering us a game of pool,” he grinned. “Anyone care to take him up on the offer?”

Ray laughed. “Come on, that’s your idea of a ghost? More like an unbalanced table.” He scowled at Chrissie. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into wasting sixty bucks on this!”

“Hey man, some of us want to be here. Why don’t you shut up?”

Ray whirled around. “Why don’t you –“ The smart ass retort died on his lips in the face of his opponent’s size. Ray gulped. The guy could play defense for the Steelers! No fool, Ray backed down and slunk to the back of the group.

He grabbed Chrissie’s arm, squeezing the soft flesh until it turned white beneath his fingers. “This is all your fault and don’t think I won’t make you pay for it.”

Tears formed in Chrissie’s eyes. She mouthed ‘I’m sorry’, and hung her head.
Ray shoved her. “Get your camera out, dumb ass. If I have to be here, I want my money’s worth."

The woman in front of them gasped and turned around, glaring at Ray.

“What are you lookin’ at?”

The woman huffed and let her friends pull her away.

Ray snorted. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed Chrissie toward the stairs as the guide suggested they move on to explore the upper levels. Bringing up the rear, Ray was still on the steps as the guide began to point out the places of reputed spiritual phenomenon. He paused on the last step to hear another tall tale being spun for the entertainment of the gullible masses.

“The upper floors remain unfinished after a fire in … death below—“ Ray frowned. The guide’s location, combined with the din from the bar made it impossible to make out more than a few disjointed sentences. He stepped onto the landing in time to hear the remainder of the tale.

“According to legend, a woman was ‘sold’ as part of a gambling debt. The card sharp who won her saw the potential to earn extra income and prostituted her. From all accounts, he was a bastard who beat and verbally abused the poor woman.” The guide met Ray’s eyes. “One day he went too far and the woman snapped and fought back. In the struggle, the man fell from the balcony, killing him instantly. Several members of the staff have had encounters--”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Great. I shelled out my hard earned dough for the ghost of a slut—“

“Ray, please, let the man talk!” Chrissie tugged on his arm as everyone on the tour stared at Ray, open mouthed.

“What? I’m just sayin’ what everyone else is thinking. Everyone with a brain that is!” He shouldered past his wife and the cluster of ghost hunters, coming to a stop in the darkened hallway that overlooked the bar. He smirked at the guide and motioned for him to continue. “Let me guess, employees claim to see the ghost of the dead bimbo –“

“Sir, I think you should choose your words more carefully –“

“Or what?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Let me guess, the so-called lady will take offen—oomph!”

Ray gasped as something struck him in the chest, knocking him back on his heels. He opened his mouth to complain, but the air around him turned frigid, turning his breaths into visible plumes and robbing him of speech.

He squinted as a blinding ball of light filled the hall. The hair on the back of his neck rose as the light slowly glided toward him. He swallowed around the lump that formed in his throat and found his voice. “Wha …what kind of trick is this?”

The whirl of camera motors was his only answer. His mind reeled, searching for an explanation. It was all a hoax. He’d complained about the tour being a rip-off. The staff was just getting even.

Ray attempted to move away; the response was immediate, and terrifying.
The freezing air began to churn, as if gale force winds were somehow whipping through the building though nothing, not even his hair, moved. Heart pounding, Ray looked across the room for help. His jaw dropped. The tour members clearly saw what was happening; and they were busy snapping pictures!

His limbs shook. His chest rose and fell as he panted for breath. A low moan filled his ears as the strange light encircled him. He shivered as a feeling of intense hate and rage rose within the cold air swirling around him. His teeth chattered and his stomach rolled.

The moan turned into a wail and out of the frosty fog emerged the hazy outline of a woman. She glared at him and then rushed forward, her arms extended, hands curled into fists.

Ray scrambled backwards, hands raised to protect himself. The backs of his legs slammed against the wooden balcony rail. The spindles vibrated and then gave way. Arms flaying, he struggled to regain his balance as his feet encountered nothing but air.

Exultant laughter filled his ears as he plummeted through the air. Eyes wide, Ray watched as his wife leaned over the rail, the bulb from her camera’s flash lighting up the night.

Daria's Dating Dilemma, Part Four

2011-10-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

Daria’s Dating Dilemma, Part Four

When we left Daria on September 26^th, her first worthwhile date had been interrupted by the arrival of her ex… But will it be a total loss?

Keith stared at me and I felt miserable. Frankly, I desired nothing more than to walk over to my ex-fiancé and stab him with a hundred of those cheese toothpicks. How dare Scott destroy me years after we “mutually” called it quits!

Well, the mutual part involved finding him pumping away at another girl and me blurting out the relationship was over. Since then, he’d taken every opportunity to cross my path and try to win me back. Even telling the jerk hell would freeze before I’d rescue him from a fire had no effect.

I took a deep breath to calm the rising anger. Losing control would only cause an explosion of my infamous temper. One flash inferno and Keith would definitely go running. I shook out my hands and gritted my teeth until calm, or a semblance of it, took over.

“I broke it off with him two years ago. After I found him in bed with another woman.” I explained for Keith and then turned. “Funny, Sam, wasn’t she a friend of yours?”

The other woman was Sam’s little sister, and she clearly remembered her part when she turned white and hightailed it for the kitchen. She was now blocking the only other means of escape unless I jumped out an open window. I rolled my shoulders and tried to breathe while the introductions of my ex continued around the room.

A hand grabbed mine and squeezed. “He still works you up?”

I frowned. “I have no feelings for Scott, except annoyance at him for not leaving me alone. Two years and he still can’t take a hint.”

“You must be special then.” He squeezed my hand again and I wanted to kiss him silly.

I don’t know why I said what I said next. I do know I’d come to regret my choice of words. “Just keep him away from me and everything will go splendid.”

Everything did go well, except for the occasional rumor or baited glance. I was used to those and shrugged them off as par for the course when hanging around this crowd. I counted down the moments until I could make my escape and something told me Keith knew it.

“Maybe we could skip out and get some coffee?” He offered from next to me, causing me to grin widely.

“I would love to. Say after this round?” He nodded and we went back to playing the game.

I was excited to leave. Playing the perfect guest while everyone talks about you was exhausting as hell. Didn’t help when every one of Maggie’s friends took Scott’s side in the equation. I remembered overhearing her tell Pat how I should have sucked it up and stuck it out since Scott was the best thing I’d ever find. I’d run crying to Pat, upset since—in a way—Scott had betrayed both of us. We’d known Scott for almost as long as each other.

Mental Rule Number 6: Do NOT date childhood friends.

Remembering her heated words brought my temper to a head and I bolted off the sofa uncontrollably. I looked down at Keith and pasted on a fake smile. “Coffee sounds great. What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

Lucky for me, he laughed and joined me in walking away from everyone. I didn’t bother telling them bye—it would have been a wasted effort. I did stop to thank Pat and that’s when it happened.

Apparently, Scott had snuck up on us while I was hugging Pat. When the tap touched my shoulder I thought it’d been Keith. Imagine my surprise when I turned to tuck my arm around him and my ex was standing there… with my purse and jacket no less!

Okay, I admit it wholeheartedly. I overreacted and my exaggerated response was the trigger on the atomic explosion that went down in the record books as Maggie’s Game Night. If I could go back in time, I would have shoved us out a window. And, in hindsight, I’m pretty sure Keith would have happily dove for it with me.

Scott standing close with my things lit my fuse and my temper exploded. I grabbed my belongings from him, slapped him, and called him every nasty word in the book. Not that I recall exactly what I said, but I’m guessing it was shocking by the remembered expressions on Pat and Keith’s faces.

When I went to storm out, of course the dumbass tried to follow. Then things got really ugly. In his defense, Keith was trying to help. He grabbed Scott and told him to leave me alone. After that, it was a barrage of fists in every direction. Even Pat took a hit, from Scott of all people.

I sat with Keith in a police station waiting to give my statement. Maggie had called the police and Scott wanted to press charges. I wasn’t sure exactly what to tell the police since it was all an angry blur, but I would do my best to get Keith out of trouble. I owed him.

“Well, it was a fun date,” I whispered, blushing fiercely. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Just tell me his face looks worse than mine,” Keith answered.

I nodded, still feeling incredibly guilty. “You did a bang up job, that’s for sure. Listen, I’ll do my best to keep you out of trouble.”

“It’s nothing. I’m sure the cops see this kind of thing all the time.” He tried to smile and winced. “Look at the bright side. We won’t be invited to any more of Maggie’s game nights for awhile.”

My laughter earned me a few cold stares from the officers around us and I choked on it. “Still, I owe you one.”

“Yes, you certainly do. You can repay me by going out to dinner when I get back.”

“Look, you’re not going to prison.”

He leaned forward and pressed the tissue into his nose again. “No, I have to go to London in two days. Arrange a consolidation of businesses.”

I leaned back, staring at the stained ceiling tiles and the glow of florescent lights. “So you’re a negotiator?”

“In a way. I make sure acquisitions for the company transition smoothly and help iron out the details.”

I reached over and patted his knee. “I’m sorry you’ll be bruised for it.”

“It’ll give me some macho man credit,” he chuckled and fell silent.

“Let me see if I can sweet talk someone into an ice bag for you.” I stood and marched over to a desk. The lady took one look at me and asked if I was hurt. I looked down and, sure enough, found blood on my clean skirt. “Damn. I’m fine, but my friend is hurt and needs an ice pack for his face.”

“He should have thought of that before the fight.”

Serve and protect my ass. “Look, he was defending me. The guy deserves an ice pack.”

She shrugged and went back to her computer. A random stranger whistled and I turned. He pointed at a vending machine. “The pop cans come out really cold.”

“Thank you,” I nodded and walked over, popping seventy five cents into the machine and getting a root beer. The guy was right, it was freezing.

I carried it back over to Keith and gingerly held it to his face. “I’m so, so sorry. Just so you know, I am the Queen of disaster dates…”

“Pat told me.”

“He what?” I would kill him next time I saw him.

“He told me you have awful luck with dates. I just forgot to wear my suit of armor.” Keith mumbled.

I eyed him carefully. “Are you okay? Concussion? You hit the wall pretty hard.”

“Maybe, but I’ll be fine.”

An officer called my name and I let Keith take over holding the can. I rose, and walked over to the room. Scott was marching out to a desk at the same time. He started to say something, but I ignored him. The officer told him it was in his best interests to leave me alone—smart officer.

I sat at the lone metal table and gave my statement as honestly as I could, all while trying not to think about the police shows I watched. I calmly detailed the rough time I’d had with Scott, the history we had, and how Keith had only been trying to protect me.

“Let me get this straight. You told that man to keep Scott away from you.” The officer jotted something down.

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t suggesting violence…” my voice dropped off as the officer stood. Was he reaching for his cuffs? “Look, I just didn’t want to deal with my lying, cheating ex-fiancé. I did not ask for anyone to exchange fists.”

“That may be, but for now I’ll need to arrest you as an accessory to assault.”

“Don’t you dare! I want my phone call. If anything we should be pressing charges against Scott. I’ve told him how many times to leave me alone. And your office was no help…” I slammed my mouth shut, realizing the officer was taking notes and I was digging myself a deeper hole.

He slid the cuffs on and led me out. Keith was whistling some tune and looking awful. The bruising on his jaw was starting to swell and I really worried about an unseen injury. There was an officer checking over Scott’s injuries a few desks away. Why did he get the gold-star treatment? Because he’d cried victim first?

“Hey, hey! I think my friend here has a concussion. He needs medical treatment.”

“Sure, lady, we’ll get a paramedic over to look at him… eventually.” A round of laughter followed as I tried to get comfortable on my bench seat.

I kept an eye on Keith while pondering who to call first. I didn’t know any lawyers.

I mean, I talked to a few in the company on occasion, but those were business attorneys. Weren’t lawyers supposed to know other lawyers?

The tears started and I couldn’t help it. Everything had gone horribly wrong, and now I was stuck with cops who didn’t care. Police who couldn’t be bothered to see things from my point of view and a date that most likely had brain damage – it was all highly depressing.

“Daria?”

I looked up at the sound of my name, mascara stinging my eyes. I blinked as a handkerchief was blotted against them. My blurry vision cleared and I gasped in shock.

“Marcus? Is that you?” I looked him over in his suit. It was a far cry from the baseball uniform he’d worn in college. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm a defense lawyer. What’s going on?”

I poured out the whole story while Keith whistled and chuckled at himself beside me. A few times more, Marcus had to blot my eyes. “And that’s all of it. They’re calling me an accessory.”

“Do you have representation yet?” I shook my head. “You do now. Let me find out about your case.”

“Thank you, oh thank you!” I would have hugged him if my hands hadn’t been cuffed behind my back. After he walked away, I leaned against Keith. “We’re going to be okay.”

I took Keith drooling on my shoulder as a sign of his shared relief.

Please return for the continuation of Daria’s journey on November 26^th, only here on Digital Digest. If you'd like to catch up on Digital Digest stories, check out our ebooks available on Kindle and Nook!

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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A Review of Cassandra Clare's City of Fallen Angels

2011-10-23T06:00:00.000-07:00

A Review of City of Fallen Angels

Jennifer Feuerstein

City of Fallen Angels, Amazon

As always let’s go over a little background information. City of Fallen Angels is Cassandra Clare’s fourth book in the Mortal Instrument series. Just when you thought the Shadowhunters had won, a new battle emerges.

Quick recap. City of Bones 3 Jester hats, City of Ashes 4 Jester hats, and City of Glass 4 Jester hats. This one, blows them all away in my opinion. It starts up a little after City of Glass ended and Ms. Clare writes it like a brand new series. The book was meant to be told more by Simon’s point of view, but the rest of the cast is still highly present and accounted for.

The character development is great and the plot is amazing. The conflicts, oh the conflicts are so juicy I wish I could let you in on the secrets. But, the Jester promised you no spoilers in her reviews so there will be no giveaways. The only downside to this book is having to wait until May 2012 for the next one!

And here’s where the previously mentioned WARNING comes in. If you’re the type who can’t stand cliffhangers, wait to read this until the next book is available and have it close at hand. Cassandra Clare leaves us with a whopper of a cliffhanger. I personally screamed out “WHAT!” in the middle of work and then cursed when an internet search informed me I had to wait until next year.

So, to sum up this little review, I give City of Fallen Angels 5 out of 5 jester hats. I really enjoyed this book the most in the series so far. It had me riveted to the point where sleep was not an option. Ask my boyfriend, I even read while eating. I could not put it down and I love a great cliffhanger. Is it May yet?!

In November, I’ll review the adult Fever series by Karen Marie Moning and you won’t want to miss it! Never fear, I’ll continue to review the new Cassandra Clare books as they’re released.

As always, I welcome suggestions for books to review.

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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