First Chapter: The Essence of Bliss by Emily Astillberry

 

Title: The Essence of Bliss

Author: Emily Astillberry

Publisher: Blossom Spring Publishing

Publication Date: December 16, 2024

Pages: 615

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Speculative Fiction

Formats: Paperback, Kindle

Isabel Bliss is a reception class teacher. She experiences other people’s emotions and can influence how they feel but she doesn’t truly understand her gift and has been encouraged, by her mum, to hide it from others. She often feels lost and alone. 

When a child in her class experiences chronic distress that only she can perceive, Isabel uses her ability to relieve his suffering, but his situation continues to worsen. Eventually she is forced to take matters into her own hands, escorting him home where she finds horrific signs of abuse. She saves his mum’s life and his father is arrested for the brutal torture he has inflicted upon his family. 

A wealthy family moves to town and Isabel meets the two sons. She recoils from Daniel, who is hateful, rude and emotionally deficient but is inexorably drawn to Scott, who awakens something magical, deep inside her. They are like her. They are fluencers and have the ability to sense, read and willfully manipulate emotional energies. Isabel confronts her mum and uncovers hurtful lies and deceit within her own family. 

She falls deeply in love and ultimately discovers the untold potential of her gift and the passion and power that dwells within.

Read a sample here.

The Essence of Bliss is available at Amazon UK and Amazon US.

First Chapter:

20 Years Ago

It began with mild agitation, a vague feeling of unease, which quickly shifted to anger, and within seconds, the placid, even temper of a six-year-old had been transformed into outright fury, a rage so intense that it had no business taking hold of a child. As the anger threatened to overwhelm me, a commotion approached from down the corridor, and I knew instinctively that the violence within me was somehow emanating from the approaching furore.

 A truly wretched looking woman was being wheeled into the X-ray department on a mobile bed covered in hospital sheets that had been devastated by her struggles and lack of control. The sheets were smeared with a revolting murky brown and indefinable mixture of bodily fluids. The woman was accompanied by two uniformed police officers who were doing their best to keep her contained, but she was fighting them like a feral cat, all hissing and spitting and claws. She was handcuffed to the bed but still thrashing madly around, pulling the handcuffs tight against the metal rail and flailing her unrestricted arm and both legs ferociously. 

She had dirty, greasy blonde hair and her unkempt fringe was falling into drawn, sunken eyes ringed with deep, dark purple bruises. Her skin was yellowing and the few teeth that remained had decayed to black. Her language was shocking. I had never heard such profanities in my life. 

  “When are you pigs going to give me something for the fucking pain, you cruel fucking bastards?” she demanded.

“You’ve had all the pain relief you can have. You’re causing the pain with all the thrashing around you’re doing. Just sit still and be quiet, Kathleen,” one of the officers replied. 

“Well, it wasn’t enough, was it?” Kathleen spat back. “Because it still fucking hurts! And if you hadn’t handcuffed me to this pissing bed, I wouldn’t be fucking thrashing around now, would I?”

It was her anger. The pure, unadulterated rage inside me was emanating directly from Kathleen. I didn’t understand it, but I knew that I needed to get away. I needed to put some distance between myself and the source of the emotions before they got the better of me and I started to shout and scream, breaking Mum’s rules. I had to keep my temper under control. I had promised, but the all-consuming ferocity was coursing through my body, and I had the irrepressible urge to kick something or someone, to lash out, to cause pain or to shriek out my manic fury.

I had to get away from the emotions that were attacking me, corroding my control, my personality, so without thinking, I ran quickly down the wide, colourless, featureless hospital corridor in the vague hope that I could put enough distance between myself and Kathleen, to be free. I turned a few corners, a sharp left, a not so sharp right and through multiple sets of double doors. After a minute or two, I stopped and looked around. I had absolutely no idea where I was or how to get back. 

I took some deep breaths, tried to ignore the ringing in my ears and reminded myself that the extreme emotions coursing through my body did not belong to me. I just needed to get my breathing under control and get back to Mum. She would panic if she came out of the X-ray room and realised that I was gone. She’d only left me for a few minutes to get Stephanie’s arm looked at, and I wasn’t supposed to move. 

I just needed a minute. I leaned against a door, which gave way at my touch, opening into blessed darkness, and I slipped inside, closed the door behind me and sagged back against it in relief.

It was cool inside the room, cool and quiet, and I was finally able to take a breath. As my rapid breathing slowed and the rush of blood in my ears quietened, I became aware of another somebody in the room, their breath coming in uneven, ragged wheezes punctuated by a harsh gasping cough. An elderly woman’s voice called out hoarsely with great effort.

“Is someone there?” she croaked. “Nurse? Are you there?” 

I froze. 

“Please?” she begged. “If someone’s there …” She was wracked by a coughing fit. “Could you please help me with a sip of water? I have a cup but can’t … not on my own.”  

I couldn’t ignore such a plea. I could feel her desolation and frustrated helplessness. Her loneliness called to me. It penetrated my mind, filling the gap that Kathleen’s anger had left behind, and I instinctively moved closer so that neither of us were on our own. I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and sniffed. I peered into the murky room and could make out the bed and the shape of a small human under the covers. I padded softly towards the bed and the old lady turned her head slowly to face me. 

She was tiny, shrunken and almost skeletal. She gave the impression of being made out of a thin, almost transparent material, as if she wasn’t quite solid, quite real. She was old beyond anything that I could have imagined, and her thin, wispy silver hair framed her fragile face in soft waves. There was such sadness in that face, such desperation, and yet her eyes still held the echoes of a life lived full of love and joy, laughter lines softening the suffering in her eyes. 

I helped her take a couple of small sips from her cup and she nodded at me that that was all. She let her head fall back onto the pillow. Her eyes closed, exhausted by the effort. 

“Thank you,” she managed to croak, her eyes still closed.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

There was a chair at the side of the bed, and I sat on it. I felt certain that my presence could be a comfort to this stranger and so sad that she was in a room in the semi-darkness all by herself. I wanted to be near her. I wanted to take away her pain. Her desire for company mirrored my own, or perhaps I was actually experiencing her emotions in my special way, but whatever the reason, I sat on that chair next to her bed and remained there. She lay in the bed next to me, her breath coming in long, ragged gasps, and neither of us spoke for a while.

After a few minutes, the old lady opened her eyes again. She looked at me, and there were tears shining on her lashes. 

“I’m so scared,” she whispered. 

I was scared too, but I tried to be brave for her. She needed me to be brave.

“What are you scared of?” I asked.

“I’ve never been afraid of dying,” she confided so quietly that I had to lean in to catch her words. “It’s not really the dying … even now,” she went on, “It’s being alone, you know …? After … forever. I’ve never doubted before, but now I’m scared. I’m scared he won’t be there waiting for me. What if he’s not there? What will I …? What if he’s not there?”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks, and her left hand moved unconsciously, searching for something. I instinctively grasped her trembling hand and held it gently in my own, soothing with human contact, skin on skin, resting them on the bed by her side and lightly squeezing in reassurance. I had never endured the pain of loss or the fear of dying myself — few children have — but I felt her pain. I absorbed her emotions and sensed the agony of grief and longing, the war between loss, hope and fear. It hurt my chest with a tightness, an ache, that a child should never even imagine.

Despite experiencing her emotions as if they were my own, they did not cripple me. They did not belong to me, and they were not violent emotions like the anger that I had felt only minutes before. This frightened old lady needed me to be strong, and so I said the only thing that I could say, the simplest of statements and exactly what she needed to hear. 

“He’ll be there.” 

I declared it with absolute conviction. I closed my eyes and willed her to believe. I gathered my inner strength and forced myself to believe in the miracle that I promised her. I found an inner peace and imagined that peace flowing from me into this frail, frightened creature. 

Gradually, I felt the old lady’s fear begin to ebb away. She absorbed the peace that I offered. Her hand stopped shaking and her breathing became more even, somehow easier. A stillness crept over her as she embraced the certainty that her soulmate was waiting for her beyond this mortal plane. I don’t know how long I sat there for, holding the old lady’s hand in mine, but after a time, her hand became slack and there was no more pain, no more fear, nothing. 

I was utterly exhausted, drained of energy. I knew that I should get up and leave the room. I knew that Mum would be frantic, furious, but somehow I couldn’t even seem to rouse myself to move. I needn’t have worried because she found me. She always found me.

I felt her before I saw her. I always did. I felt them both. There was a fluttering deep within the recesses of my mind that bore their mark, their signature. She burst into the room with Stephanie in tow, a beautiful red cast on her arm, and Mum was crying and she was shouting, and she stumbled towards me and smothered me in hugs and kisses and remonstrations and declarations of love. After the panic of the last few minutes and the relief of finding me unscathed had passed, she took in the scene before her and she scooped me up out of my chair, took my place and held me on her lap. She held me so tightly that I thought that I might burst, but I held it together because I knew that she needed this.

A minute or two passed and Mum began to calm down. I gestured towards the old lady in the bed, thinking to explain my situation, thinking that she would be pleased with me because I had done something with my gift, something right.

“She needed me, Mummy. She needed me and I made it better for her. She was so frightened, and I made the pain go away.”

Mum held my face away from hers so that she could look me straight in the eyes. She shook her head, brooking no argument.

“I love you, Isabel. I love you so much. You’re a special little girl with a special gift, and I am so proud of you, but this …” She shot a glance at the figure in the bed, “No. Just … no.”

“But …” I tried to explain.

“No, Isabel. No buts. The world isn’t ready for you yet. The world isn’t ready for this … for you … for what you can … please, Isabel, trust me on this. Your life will be better without … without this.” She gestured between me and the body on the bed. 

“You can be normal, live a normal life. You have to choose that life. Not this. Never this. No more, Isabel. I mean it. No more.”

About the Author:

Emily Astillberry is an author and RSPCA Inspector from Norfolk, England. She has a degree in English Literature and Linguistics from York University and has been investigating animal cruelty and neglect and rescuing sick and injured animals for 20 years. In her day job, Emily deals with very difficult and often emotional situations and meets all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds. Her career provides some of the inspiration for themes and characters that can be found in her fictional work.

At home, in a very old cottage in the country, Emily has a husband, 5 children, a dog, a cat, an axolotl, 2 giant African land snails and a varying number of rescue hens, so finding time to write can be a challenge. She is happiest outdoors, growing fruit and vegetables in the garden, walking the dog and family holidays usually involve walking up mountains in summer, skiing down them in winter and sleeping in a tent whenever possible.

Emily loves spending time with her large, noisy, chaotic family, cooking meals for friends and playing board games. She always has at least one book on the go and has always dreamed of writing her own novel. She now dreams of writing more. 

Visit her website at https://emilyastillberry.com. 

You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

The Essence of Bliss is her latest book.

Read a Chapter: Riftsiders: Unlawful Possession by Paul A. Destefano

 

Title: RIFTSIDERS: UNLAWFUL POSSESSION

Author: Paul A. Destefano
Publisher: Wild Rose Press
Pages: 292
Genre: Urban Fantasy / Paranormal Romance

BOOK BLURB:

Enrique Marin wants a quiet life after the death of his wife. Just one problem stands in the way–he’s possessed by the misanthropic English demon, Tzazin. A violent night under demonic influence accidentally leads Enrique to love, and it’s anything but quiet. Shy, autistic yoga instructor Elle thought allowing herself to be possessed by the very-not-shy sex demon Key would help her find love. She finds Enrique, but she didn’t count on coping with the anti-demon bigotry of society. Fate–and AA meetings for the possessed–brings them together, but hostile forces, demonic and human, fight to keep them apart. It might cost them everything to keep their love alive.

“DeStefano weaves a masterful tale of mystery using threads of horror, humor, and heat-filled romance. Teeming with snarky demons and one swoon-worthy hero, this is the perfect story for anyone who loves the supernatural.” – Author BB Swann

“He has always worn his love for SF, Fantasy & Horror on his sleeve. This is Dark Fantasy written with an immense knowledge of the genre, and it shows.” –  Patrick Kennedy, host of The Literate Nerds Podcast

“The writing – it is amazing … it feels as if I was reading a Brandon Sanderson novel or a Patrick Rothfuss book.” –  Battlecast Reviews

“Paul has a wonderful way of bringing a world alive so that you feel you can reach out and touch it.” – Jamie Jolly, Shadowborne Games

Book Information

Release Date: April 18, 2022

Publisher: Wild Rose Press

Soft Cover: ISBN: 978-1509241231; 292 pages; $16.99; E-Book, $4.99

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3HZpkPE

CHAPTER ONE

Enrique approached the church feeling more like a lost tourist from the Dominican Republic than someone on national watchlists. Peering up at the untended vines coating the wall, he ran a hand through his short black hair. He glanced back at the street and then followed Ebbs down the stairs to the basement side entrance.

“I don’t even think he’s a real priest,” came the familiar British tones in the back of Enrique’s mind. “He’s not wearing a collar. This is bollocks. He can’t teach you anything about controlling me you don’t already know, and I’m certainly not going to listen to some pudgy little unshaven monk or whatever he is. Don’t go in.”

Enrique stopped halfway down the cracked steps and bent, turning his back to Ebbs to tie a shoe that wasn’t untied. Ebbs waited by the door, gently humming to himself.

“Shut up, Taz,” Enrique said, barely above a whisper. “If you would behave in the first place, we wouldn’t have to be here.”

“Still bollocks,” Taz said.

Enrique stood and wiped his hands on his jeans before descending. At the base of the stairway, he stomped his work boot into the puddle that reflected a third figure only he could see pacing behind them.

Ebbs fished for keys in the pocket of his beaten brown leather jacket. He unlocked a door barely held together by decades of flaking paint. It swung open smoothly and silently. Stepping aside, he extended a hand and indicated Enrique should enter before him.

Enrique didn’t move.

“It’s a safe place,” Ebbs said, scratching the mottled gray of his unshaven neck.

Enrique had heard that before.

“Sometimes, that first step through the doorway is the hardest.”

Enrique looked to the source of the voice, a silhouette up the hallway that nearly reached the ceiling.

“I’m Dante Serrano,” the deep calming voice continued. “I moderate the group. Father Clancy here told me you would be coming. Enrique, right?”

Dante’s head nearly grazed the hanging fluorescents as he approached, extending a massive hand in greeting. Enrique nodded and stepped in, trying not to stare too obviously at Dante’s dark eyes, nearly a foot above his own.

“Tell you what,” Dante said with a bright grin. “I’ll answer your questions first, make you more comfortable. Come on, follow me. The answer to your first question, seven-foot one. Second question, no, I never played pro, got some bum knees. You know everyone sees a black man a head and shoulders over them, and they think, damn, that guy shoot some hoops. What you don’t hear is how much a damn problem it can be being so tall. Sure—never need a step stool, get to help all the shorter folk reach that top shelf in the grocery store. I’m not saying there are no perks. I’m saying there’s sometimes a hidden price. Considering where you are, I’m guessing you know that all too well.”

“You mean considering what I am?” Enrique said, following the giant man through a doorway.

Dante turned, shaking his shaved head. “No, man, no. Who you are. You got a problem? Okay. But that does not define you. A man is a lot of things—a plumber, a mechanic, a husband, a father. But you are never less a person before that. You are always you. Good man. Bad man. That’s not my job to tell you. But you. No matter what your problem. You are a who. Never a what. Just because a taxi picks up a bad passenger, that does not make that taxi’s a bad taxi. You get me?”

“Actually, you’re a pretty awful taxi,” Taz said.

“I get you,” Enrique said, shrugging and looking around. He stepped into the center of the circle of empty chairs in the small room. Beyond a table of coffee and doughnuts, a young woman with long blonde hair over a tight-fitting outfit standing with her head down and her hands clasped by her waist. She pushed dark glasses farther up the bridge of her nose but didn’t speak. Enrique looked to the ceiling.The lights were no brighter where she stood, and certainly not bright enough to warrant sunglasses.

“Well, hello, hello, what do we have here?” Taz said. “Perhaps this group isn’t complete bollocks after all.”

“That’s Elle,” Dante said softly. “Yoga teacher. She’s one of our members. She’s on the autism spectrum and sometimes needs a little time to adjust to new people in the group. She’ll warm up to you.”

“Hi, Elle,” Enrique said with a small wave. “I’m Enrique.”

“The others will be by in just a few minutes,” Dante said, pouring coffee into a cardboard cup. “Just like Elle needs some time, we’d like to get to learn a bit about you. Me and our very own Father Clancy Ebbs to start. Just to, you know, get comfortable.”

“Ex-Father,” Ebbs interjected. “In Coena Domini.”

“Excommunicated,” Dante translated. “But still good enough for us. And still always Father to me.”

“And there are two of you,” Enrique pointed out. “In case I’m more than one can handle.”

Elle tilted her head in curiosity.

“Can never be too careful at first encounter,” Dante said. “Coffee? It’s actually pretty good. Here, give it a try and grab a chair. Any.”

Enrique pulled off his light jacket and hung it on the back of one of the folding chairs. He took the offered coffee and added a sugar cube from the table. If Dante weren’t in the room with him, he would be considered tall. Enrique sniffed the coffee, blew on it, and sat, one hand rubbing the worn knees of his jeans.

“Want one?” Father Ebbs asked, helping himself to a powdered doughnut.

Enrique shook his head.

“You a talker or a listener?” Dante asked, leaving one empty chair between them when he sat.

“Truthfully,” Enrique said, “I usually don’t shut up. But I’m not, I’m not really…”

“Not comfortable talking about your passenger? I get it,” Dante said with a nod.

“I don’t like it either,” Ebbs said.

“You?” Enrique asked, turning to the ex-priest. “I would have thought—”

“Occupational hazard,” Ebbs said.

“Father Ebbs got his passenger right around when the rift opened, Dante said. “He’s an early adopter.”

“No one had yet come to terms with…you know.” Ebbs brushed powdered sugar from his lips. “The whole ‘demons are coming to our world and are real’ thing. It was before anyone knew what was going on. It was an exorcism of one of the first. A little girl. I invited her in. My passenger, not the girl. She took the offer. Violastine. Viola. And, as a result, I got excommunicated from upstairs.”

“And you damned yourself,” Enrique finished.

Dante ran a hand over his bold head. “Father Ebbs’ passenger is—”

“Fucking horrible,” Ebbs said. “Mostly controlled. Mostly. But when she breaks free. Trust me, you don’t want to be around.”

Enrique tensed. “Yours is a separate manifest? Like actually separate from you?”

Ebbs nodded. “I swear, she’s controlled. She’s not out. Like every precaution in the book. Meds, prayer, you name it, I got her on tighter lockdown than mother superior’s knees.”

“My passenger is named Brogado,” Dante said and took a sip of coffee. “Bro is a physical manifest through me. When he pilots, I get strong as all hell, literally. But human bodies just aren’t supposed to do that. So, I blackout, and Bro does his thing. I wake up like a train hit me.”

“Your bum knees,” Enrique said, piecing it together.

“Broken by my own muscles,” Dante said.

“Does he talk to you?”

“We communicate but not quite in words. More like hunches and feelings. When he’s mad, I can tell.”

Enrique turned to Ebbs. “Does yours talk?”

“She would love it if I listened,” Ebbs said. “It’s more like a constant distant howling. I’ve learned to box that out. Elle’s passenger is an entwined riftsider. They both exist in the same space. I’m sure you’ll meet her, too.”

“Tell us a little about yours,” Dante said and took a slow sip of his coffee.

Enrique slumped backward in the seat, looking to the ceiling with a chuckle.

“Yes,” taunted the lilting British accent only Enrique heard. “Do tell about me.”

“Tzazin,” Enrique said, staring into his coffee. “My demon is Tzazin Auropolus. I call him Taz. He, well, he’s kind of like me in that sometimes he just doesn’t know when to shut up. When I look at my reflection, I can see him. Always following me just behind my shoulder. Glass reflection doesn’t always work. Sometimes it does, and he insists it’s due to how natural or man-made the material is. The science of the other side doesn’t always make sense to me.”

“Now tell them how startlingly handsome I am,” Taz whispered.

“He looks like a man with gray sandpaper skin. And his eyes are this weird sickly off-yellow.”

“That’s not even slightly flattering,” Taz complained.

“But he’s got some sort of knowledge tap. It’s like having a running connection to an internet search engine.”

“I’m an archivist, you human nimrod. Show some respect.”

“Oh, he’s telling me right now I should tell you he’s an archivist.”

“And when Taz pilots?” Dante asked.

“When Taz pilots, I blackout. And end up in jail. I was told I can be out on probation if I come here to learn to control him.”

“You make that sound so one-sided,” Taz said with a snicker. “Whose fingerprints were there? Certainly not mine.”

Enrique set his jaw and placed his coffee cup on the floor.

“Yo, ain’t no one told me we got a newbie.”

Enrique turned to see a young girl with dreadlocks step into the room biting into an apple and letting the juice flow down her chin.

“Enrique, the rude teen girl is my niece, Yesania,” Dante said with a slight smile and a gesture. “You bring enough for everyone?”

“You got your doughnuts,” Yesania pointed. “Star pitcher on the softball team has to keep in shape. Not poisoning my body with more of that shit than I have to. Oh, sorry for the language, Father. No offense. Hey, Elle.”

Elle looked up and brushed her long hair aside, smiling with a wave.

“None taken,” Ebbs said, reaching for another doughnut. “Especially since that means more for us who know what good food is.”

Yesania pulled out a chair, and it screeched across the floor. She sat directly in front of Enrique, throwing her hoodie to the ground and pushing dreadlocks from her face. She leaned forward and stared into Enrique’s eyes. “Go ahead. Show me who you got.”

“Yesania,” Dante said, putting his hand on her shoulder to ease her away.

“No, Unc,” she snapped, shrugging him off. “Show and tell. You ain’t here for some small-time imp. Show me.”

“You don’t want that.” Enrique slid his chair back.

“She wants it,” Taz said, clearly with a grin Enrique felt in the back of his mind.

“She doesn’t want that,” Enrique said.

“You show me yours; I’ll show you mine,” Yesania said in a teasing schoolgirl voice. “Lookie.”

Yesania held out her palm and blew across it as if blowing flower petals from her hand. The room filled with the smell of lilacs. A sparkling yellow dust scattered from her empty hand and hung in the air in a vaguely feminine shape that bowed politely.

“Meet Cali,” Yesania announced.

Enrique reached his hand out, curious. The sparkling dust extended what would be a hand and settled on his. It felt mildly electric and warm.

“Caliosandra,” the dust shape whispered in introduction, appearing to grow less dense.

Yesania panted and watched the dust form fall, shimmering specks vanishing before touching the floor.

“You okay?” Dante asked.

“Yeah, letting Cali out is tiring sometimes,” Yesania said. “Long day of practice. That’s kind of why I’m here. Can’t get completely rid of her unless I just go to sleep for a long time. She’s not the prize I originally thought.”

“She means die,” Taz said to Enrique.

“I know what she meant,” Enrique said.

“Oh, you got a full-time talker,” Yesania said with a smile. “Come on. I showed you mine. You got some sort of manifest?”

“You don’t want to do that,” Enrique said.

“Too scary? I can handle it.”

“Yesania, stop,” Dante said flatly.

“No, Unc, I don’t think I will. If I gotta be in this room, I want to know who’s in here with me. Show me.”

“If he’s not ready, Yesania,” Ebbs said.

“I am not staying if I don’t know who’s here,” Yesania insisted.

“Reveal me,” Taz said. “It’s only fair if I make myself known.”

Enrique looked to Dante for help.

“Your call,” Dante said. “At your own pace.”

“Taz isn’t a separate manifest like that was. Like Cali,” Enrique said. “It’s more like what Dante said.”

“Brogado,” Dante supplied.

“It’s not pleasant.”

Yesania stared into Enrique’s eyes. “I got this. Show me.”

“She asked for it,” Taz chided.

“You asked.” Enrique reached out and placed two fingers on the back of Yesania’s hand.

“Sweet motherfucker!” Yesania yelled, jumping away. She looked at her steaming hand. “What the hell was that shit?”

“That was Taz,” Enrique said simply.

Elle stepped back with one foot, either a fighting stance or a position to run from. Ebbs doughnut hit the floor where he was standing with a tiny powdered sugar explosion. He ran from the room, covering his face with his hands.

“You bleeding?” Dante asked Yesania, both watching Ebbs’ retreat.

Enrique looked out to the hallway. “What happened to Father Ebbs? Did I do something?”

“Blood is a bad thing around here. It triggers Ebbs’ passenger, Viola.” Dante examined his niece’s hand. “He ran out for everyone’s safety.”

“Sorry,” Enrique said. “I didn’t know. She shouldn’t be bleeding.”

“Yo,” Yesania said, rubbing her hand. “That felt like fire.”

“It’s not heat. It’s abrasion. That was just a buzz. If I held it there, it would take your skin off like a band sander. I try not to let him do that.”

“You sometimes fail,” Taz reminded.

Enrique shifted in his seat and glanced up to a round-faced Asian man in an EMT shirt standing in the doorway.

“We good?” the man called, holding a hand toward Ebbs to keep him in the hallway.

“We good, Corey. Ebbs can come back,” Dante said.

“Corey Oshi,” Dante announced, nodding to Ebbs as he cautiously closed the door behind him. “New guy is Enrique Marin.”

“Don’t shake his hand,” Yesania warned, still rubbing her own.

“It’s not like that,” Enrique said, shaking his head. “That’s only when I let him out to play or something goes wrong. Sorry, but you asked.”

“Oh, you got one that bites, huh?” Corey said, gingerly taking Enrique’s hand. “Mine’s more fun. Check it. You ever play two truths and a lie?”

“Yeah?” Enrique said, not sure where the question was headed.

“Go,” Corey said with a grin, sitting across from him. “Hit me with some facts, guy I never met.”

“Um, okay,” Enrique said. “I was born in the Dominican Republic. That’s one. I carve and install wood for millwork. Wait, that one doesn’t count, I’m still wearing my work shirt; you could just read that. Instead, let’s go with I collect vinyl records. And my mom makes the best mac and cheese in the world.”

“Harry, talk to me,” Corey called. He waited briefly, nodding several times. “Last one’s a lie. Boom!”

Enrique laughed. “Yeah, my mom’s mac was crap. That was pretty cool.”

“Hariememnon—Harry for short—extends his greetings and welcomes you to the group,” Corey said after a pause. “My folks were killed in a construction accident. Crane fell. Left me kind of alone and weak, and Harry moved in.”

“Same, but mine was my wife, Sofia,” Enrique said, silencing the room.

“Operative word: was,” Taz said.

“Condolences.” Ebbs placed a firm hand on Enrique’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Father.” Enrique forced a fake smile. “It was years ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Ebbs said.

“Yeah,” Enrique said. “I’ve been kind of dating, but yeah.”

Elle suddenly stepped to the circle of chairs, looking Enrique up and down. “This a funeral or possession support group? Had we known we had a new guy, we would have baked a cake. Nah, that’s bullshit, neither of us can cook. Believe us, we tried.”

“Enrique, this is Elle and her passenger Key,” Dante said, over-pronouncing the word Elle.

“This rather nice bod might be Elle, but we share the attic,” she said with a wide smile, sliding easily into a seat. She removed her glasses, revealing large expressive eyes with irises of unnatural metallic green. Her long blonde hair landed on bare shoulders over a black, well-shaped tank top and form-fitting dark blue yoga pants, but Enrique didn’t look away from the captivating eyes.

“I’m Key,” she said, slightly tilting her head, scanning Enrique head to toe. “It’s short for Keostapholese. And you’re the new tall, rugged, and yummy that sits next to me in session.”

“Let Elle speak,” Dante said, somewhere between a suggestion and an order.

She closed her eyes and swallowed before looking to the floor. She spoke next in a much softer tone and continued to stare at the ground.

“I’m Elle. Not short for anything.”

“Dude, she’s hot,” Taz said.

“I’m Enrique.” He extended his hand.

“She won’t shake it,” Yesania said. “She’s autistic.”

“Elle may be on the spectrum,” Dante explained further. “Key, not so much.”

Elle turned, not lifting her head, and looked to Dante through locks of blonde hanging over her eyes, raising one hand with a middle finger held high.

“That would be Key,” Dante said with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to get them to identify separately.”

“No, that was from both of us,” Elle said with a grin. “With love. Confused yet, Enrique? See, Elle is fearless, but not with people. People are terrifying. Key, on the other hand, is not so good at keeping quiet and doesn’t get this whole morals thing you humans get caught up on. Life, death, sex, whatever. Together, we share this body. So, when you talk to us, use a plural noun as you would with a transgender friend. Both here, all the time. Sometimes we’re more one than the other. But it’s us. Like twins. Partner, not passenger. Sorry we didn’t say anything earlier. Elle wanted to try stepping up to you alone but needed help. The whole square jawed five o’clock shadow thing intimidates her. Needed a bit of a nudge. Now here we both are.”

“So,” started Enrique. “If you’re Elle and Key in there at once, why don’t you have everyone call you Elkie?”

She leaned back in her chair and looked to each of the others. “Yeah, guys, if this is all about acceptance and adjustment, how come you don’t call me Elkie?”

Dante’s brow furrowed. Yesania and Corey exchanged shrugs.

“Didn’t think of it?” Ebbs said.

After Dante gently moderated a ninety-minute discussion about media bias against the possessed and what they could do to change people’s perceptions, they set about grabbing more coffee and doughnuts from the table.

“You said, or rather, your shirt says you do commercial millwork,” Corey said, reaching in front of Enrique for a doughnut. “I happen to be a carpenter.”

“Carpenter EMT?” Enrique asked.

“Sue me, I have a few hobbies.”

“Which is the hobby—the EMT, or the carpenter?”

“That depends on whether I have a commission or I’m on a call. Whatever I’m doing is the important stuff. Commit to love what you do, right?”

“Well—” Enrique paused for a moment. “What I love is actual sculpture. Form work. Organic flow. I’ve sold three big pieces and a handful of carved masks. But what pays the bills is millwork in government buildings.”

“My thing is furniture,” Corey said and nodded. “Chests. Tables. I like lathing the legs. You know, that trying to make everything even and right. You take a two-by of oak and you give it that nice shape, make them all good and even. We should do some together. Get some ornamental hand carving added to my stuff. We can make decent bread, you know. Guessing you go oak and maple a lot.”

“Wenge and tiger when I can afford it,” Enrique said wistfully.

Elkie sidled between them to reach the coffee pot with a sideways glance and a smirk.

“What?” Corey asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, waving him off. “Just kind of interesting a new guy shows up and you immediately have to compare wood.”

Corey rolled his eyes. “That’s Key for you.”

“Tell me how your wife died,” Elkie said, turning her back to Corey.

“Seriously?” Corey asked. “That’s how you start a conversation? A dick joke and ask him how his wife died?”

Her strange metallic eyes sparkled. “Demon, remember?”

“Don’t worry. It’s fine,” Enrique said. “I actually kind of like the candor.”

“I thought someone said you were supposed to let Elle drive,” Corey said, gesturing to Dante across the room.

“Yeah, whatever,” Elkie said. “You eat all those doughnuts and don’t gain weight. You like that, don’t you?”

“Harry takes care of that,” Corey shrugged. “Housing him burns a lot of calories. Never need to take your yoga classes.”

“And Elle is not comfortable talking to strangers,” Elkie said. “So, she thought letting me forward to talk to the cute guy was a good idea. Riftsiders provide certain advantages. Her call, not mine. She wants us to appear polite.”

“Asking about his dead wife on your first unmoderated interaction isn’t usually considered polite,” Corey said. He then stopped and tilted his head, listening. “But Harry says you actually are trying to be nice. Not the smoothest move, though.”

“See,” Elkie said. “Probably not doing anything to fix it but noted.”

“Car crash,” Enrique said. “It’s okay, seriously. No reason to dance around it. She was coming home late. Worked at a nursing home. Never made it to dinner. Seven years ago.”

“Has it been that long?” Taz mumbled in his mind. “Seems so much more recent.”

“Condolences,” Elkie said flatly. “See, we can be nice.”

“Harry says Elle just told you to say that,” Corey said.

“If you would stop separating us like that, maybe the nice Mr. Enrique would simply notice how charming we are. How long were you guys married?”

“You’re seriously going to grill him like this?” Corey protested.

“It’s okay, I promise,” Enrique said, still watching the strange beetle shell reflections of her eyes. “Four years.”

“And that’s how you took on your passenger, Zach?” she said.

“Zach?” Taz shouted loud enough to make Enrique flinch. “Did this mingebag just call me Zach?”

“Taz,” he corrected, “And you just pissed him off.”

Elkie and Corey each took a quick step back.

“No, it’s safe,” Enrique said quickly. “I’m on Abyzone. Keeps him calm. I do it whenever I go out someplace new.”

“You mean keeps me weak,” Taz corrected.

Dante coughed and the room lights flicked off and on. He stood by the door and coughed again, gesturing to the hallway. “My, oh my, would you look at the time. Next week, guys. They need the room. You know how it goes.”

Corey grabbed another doughnut, heading toward the door mumbling, “For Harry.”

“Who’s up for a walk?” Elkie said. “The park across the street?”

Corey nodded. “Yeah sure.”

“We kinda meant new guy, but okay,” Elkie said.

“You weren’t specific.”

Elkie’s mouth trembled. She turned her metallic eyes to the floor. “We were being nice. Of course, you’re invited, too.” Her voice was decidedly softer.

Corey gave Enrique a knowing glance and nod. “Thanks, Elle.”

“Why not?” Enrique said. “I’ve got nothing else to go to. I can hang with some new friends. Let’s go for a walk. Just the six of us.”

“Harry thinks you’re funny,” Corey said, stepping with them to the hall. “But I think the jury is still out on that one.”

About the Author

Paul A. DeStefano and his wife live on Long Island, NY, with a strange menagerie that includes a dog, a few cats, sugar gliders, a bearded dragon, and several grown children that have not left.

After graduating from Hofstra University with a split degree in English and Acting, he worked in the board gaming and roleplaying industry for decades, including officially licensed projects for Star Trek and Lord of the Rings. He did not win the Origins Award for Best Miniatures Rules in 2004 and has forgotten that bitter defeat. When not playing and working on games, he is sometimes found touring internationally, giving lectures on worldbuilding and character design.

Being a professional full-time blacksmith for several years made him realize how much less painful it was to go back to writing. He’s been lucky enough to hold the Top Humor Writer badge at Medium multiple times and has had his work narrated by James Cosmo (Lord Mormont from Game of Thrones) on multimillion-dollar Kickstarter projects.

It is also worth noting that having never taken any bassoon lessons, he still cannot play one.

His latest book is the urban fantasy/paranormal romance novel, RIFTSIDERS: UNLAWFUL POSSESSION.

Visit his website at www.PaulADeStefano.com or connect with him on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads and Instagram.

Chapter reveal: Kaitlin’s Tale, by Christine Amsden

Title: Kaitlin’s Tale

Genre: urban fantasy/paranormal romance

Author: Christine Amsden

Website: http://www.christineamsden.com

Publisher: Twilight Times Books

Get your copy at Amazon / OmniLit

Read an interview with the author on USA Today! 

Kaitlin Mayer is on the run from the father of her baby – a vampire who wants her to join him in deadly eternity. Terrified for her young son, she seeks sanctuary from the hunters guild. But they have their own plans for her son, and her hopes of safety are soon shattered.

When she runs into Matthew Blair, an old nemesis with an agenda of his own, she dares to hope for a new escape. But Matthew is a telepath, and Kaitlin’s past is full of dark secrets she never intended to reveal.

Chapter 1

To: Cassie.Scot@gmail.com

From: Kaitlin.Meyer12@gmail.com

Re: Jason is Dead

Jason is dead.

Go ahead. Say “I told you so.” You never do, but just this once could you stoop down to the level of us mere mortals long enough to sneer like a ten-year-old? Put a little hip wiggle into it and wrinkle your nose. Roll your eyes at me like I’m the biggest moron on the planet.

After all you did, in fact, tell me so.

And when you’re finished, I need you to do me the biggest favor I’ve ever asked in my life. In all likelihood, the last favor I’ll ever ask. I need you to take Jay. I need you to keep him safe, because you and Evan are probably the only two people who can. I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to love him like you lo ve your own daughter.

* * *

“It’s time, Kaitlin.”

Kaitlin rocked her one-year-old son back and forth, trying to convince him to go down for a nap, but Jay wasn’t having it. He was teething, and it seemed to hurt him worse when he lay down in a horizontal position. He was so tired that Kaitlin swore she’d hold him upright for eight hours if he’d just fall asleep, but he seemed, paradoxically, too tired to sleep.

Jason’s intrusion wasn’t helping. Jay turned his head and reached his arms out for his father – or the vampire who had once been his father – instinctively begging for the love that should have been his by right. But Jason had never taken an interest in his son; he could barely stand to look at him. In fact, if anything had finally convinced Kaitlin that Jason was dead, it was the fact that the real Jason had died for his son. This thing now inhabiting his body wouldn’t even live for him.

“Did you hear me?” Jason asked.

Jay cried harder. Kaitlin shushed him and rocked still more furiously, pretending she hadn’t heard. Pretending she could delay the inevitable for a few more days. But she’d known this day was coming for a while now. Had sensed it would be soon. It was why she had e-mailed her best friend in the world, begging for help, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of her son. But Cassie had not responded, and Sara, the nanny who had agreed to transport Jay, had disappeared two days ago.

“Answer me, Kaitlin,” Jason said in a voice that at one time would have compelled obedience. It no longer did, even though Jason continued to feed from her daily, simultaneously injecting her body with a venom that should have kept her in thrall. She wasn’t sure why the thrall had gradually dissipated over the past few months, but her new clarity of mind had bigger problems to work out – like the fact that Jason wanted to make her just like him.

Jason took another step into the nursery. He rarely ventured inside these hallowed walls, but Kaitlin had spent more and more time there of late, requiring him to come inside if he wanted her.

“Can’t you make him shut up?” Jason asked.

“I’m trying! Can’t we talk about this later?”

“Can we? You never leave this room.”

And he never came in. Would Kaitlin come in after she turned? Or would she forget Jay’s existence, the way Jason had? Her nightmare was that of Jay screaming for his mother, but she never came. Eventually, he would stop crying. Then after a few days, when no one came to feed him, he would stop doing everything else.

“Please, just let me get Jay down for his nap. Then we can talk.”

“There’s no need to wait.” Another man came to stand just inside the doorway, a man who made Kaitlin’s blood turn to ice whenever she saw him. Xavier looked so deceptively ordinary; it was part of his power. But she had seen him rip the throat out of men and face an entire heptade of vampire hunters without breaking a sweat.

He wasn’t superhuman, though; he was inhuman. She couldn’t fathom his purpose, but she suspected his goal was to create an entire new race of vampires under his control. At least, that’s what she assumed happened to the dozens of people who came into their lives for varying lengths of time, most of them nearly catatonic from the vampire’s thrall. She was not permitted to speak to them, and when they left, she never saw them again.

Xavier was over two hundred years old, but he didn’t look at Kaitlin as though she were a child. He looked at her as though she were food. Kaitlin had long sensed that he was no longer human, that he was somehow alien. She had sensed it in him before the thrall had worn off, though she hadn’t cared. The realization had taken much longer with Jason. Perhaps that sense of other increased over time.

Even Jay could sense the evil in Xavier. The boy started bucking and twisting, his tiny face turning red. He might have had his supernatural strength bound so he didn’t accidentally hurt someone, but even without it he was a marvel of physical strength. He had crawled at about two weeks old. Now, at a year old, he could run like a ten-year-old.

“Please, leave us alone!” Kaitlin cried, trying with all her might to cling to the wriggling child.

“Sara can take him,” Xavier said.

He stepped to the side and Kaitlin’s heart leaped. Oh thank God! Not that she wanted to give up her son. It was the hardest thing she would ever do in her life, but she had gone over it and over it in her mind. She had no choice. Jason would not take no for an answer any longer. He would turn her into a vampire tonight and when he did, Jay would need protection. Even from her.

The middle-aged woman who had helped Kaitlin with Jay over the past year strode into the room as if she hadn’t just disappeared without a word for two days. Kaitlin didn’t need a nanny; as she’d told both Jason and Xavier a hundred times, she could handle Jay on her own. But Sara had provided some companionship and comfort to her, especially in the months since the thrall had worn off. Sara always had a friendly smile on her face, was infinitely patient with Jay (something Kaitlin definitely wasn’t), and despite their age difference, they seemed to have a lot in common. They read the same books, liked the same movies, and both feared the men who haunted this house alongside them.

Kaitlin smiled at Sara despite the churning of butterflies in her stomach. Sara knew what to do. She’d pretend to take Jay for a quick drive to the store, but she wouldn’t stop for diapers. She’d keep going, leaving their two-story house in Virginia and not stopping until she reached Eagle Rock, Missouri.

“Let me try getting him to sleep,” Sara said, striding over.

“It’s no good,” Kaitlin said. “Maybe you could take him for a drive.”

When Sara reached the rocking chair, Kaitlin kissed Jay on the head, surreptitiously saying good-bye. Then she handed Jay to the nanny.

The baby cried harder still, his wails threatening to shake the house down. What was the matter with him? Jay was often quiet for Sara when he refused to settle for Kaitlin.

That’s when Kaitlin recalled the coldness of the woman’s arms as she’d passed Jay into them. The pallor of her skin. The slight yellow tinge to her eyes.

“No!” Kaitlin screamed, trying to get Jay back.

Jason got between the two women, using his superior strength to stop Kaitlin from moving at all. He had her arms pinned to her sides and then, inexorably, he pushed her out the door.

“It’s really not so bad,” Sara said to Kaitlin. “I know you’re scared of turning, but it’s really very liberating.”

“No!” Kaitlin tried to dig her heels into the thick blue carpeting, knowing it was useless. Knowing Jason and Xavier had the strength to make her do anything. Knowing she was as dead as Jason. Knowing, but not yet accepting. “No! Not now! It can’t happen now!”
Jason picked her up easily with one arm and clamped his other hand over her mouth. She fought. She kicked and strained with all he might, but to an outside observer she probably looked as docile as a kitten.

Xavier followed in their wake as Jason made his way down the elegant, hardwood stairs to the sparsely furnished living room. Xavier was rich. Filthy rich after centuries of whatever he did. But he kept few creature comforts. When it came to houses he preferred quantity to quality – he had safe houses all over the world. In the past year, Kaitlin had lived in four of them.

Jason set Kaitlin down on t he beige couch then sat beside her, pinning her there with his size and weight. She had already stopped struggling however; it did her no good. She would have to think of something else, but what? She had been prepared to die to get her son to safety, but now it seemed that she was the only one who could save him.

With that thought steeling her resolve, Kaitlin calmed down. She might be the biggest moron on the planet for agreeing to run away with a vampire in the first place, but she was smart enough to know that if she had any hope of getting out of this, it was through words and cunning. She had no physical strength to pit against a vampire, one of the strongest creatures on the planet. Also, one of the fastest.

Jason placed a heavy hand on her pajama-clad thigh, squeezing slightly through the silky material. Kaitlin felt nothing but cold dead fingers, but she pushed away her revulsion the way she’d been pushing it away for the past few months. Closing her eyes, she melted against him, emitting a soft sigh of surrender.

“There, that’s better,” Jason said as he continued running his cold hand up and down her thigh. “Xavier, I don’t think you need to be here for this.”

“You’ve never watched anyone turn,” Xavier said smoothly. “And you’ve always been a bit of an idiot where that girl was concerned.”

Jason growled and Kaitlin tensed once again, not sure which of the two vampires she feared more.

“She’s mine.” Jason tightened the possessive hand squeezing her thigh; she struggled to keep from crying out in pain. “That’s what we agreed before you ever turned me.”

“She doesn’t want to turn and she’s immune to thrall.”

Immune? Did he know why? She dared to look at him; Xavier smiled, fangs bared, eyes yellow with bloodlust. He had looked at her just that way so many times she had lost count, but still she shivered.

“I can handle her,” Jason said. “But not with you here. She doesn’t trust you.”

“Have it your way.” Xavier supplied a mock bow to Jason, shot Kaitlin another malicious look, then backed out of the living room by way of the kitchen. Since the vampires didn’t eat food, she was sure he meant to go through it to the garage and indeed, a few seconds later, she heard the garage door open.

“Sorry about him,” Jason said. “Now where were we?”

Kaitlin drew in a deep, shaky breath and forced herself to relax as he moved his hand away from her thigh, running it up her hips, around her waist, and then with an almighty tug, he pulled her forward so she sat atop his lap.

“We can’t do this now,” Kaitlin said, keeping her voice gentle and sweet. “I’m weak. You forgot to give me that blood replenishment potion yesterday.”

“I didn’t forget,” Jason said. “It’s time, Kaitlin. Time for you to join me for real, the way you promised you would when you left Eagle Rock last year.”

“I will. Of course I will! But you know how important it was for me to nurse Jay. I want only the best for our son, like you do.” She held her breath, wondering if the lie would continue to hold one last time. She hadn’t actually nursed Jay in at least six months. Apparently, exsanguination isn’t good for a woman’s milk supply, even with regular blood replenishment potions.

Jason frowned, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. He might not have seen through the lie; he often got that look on his face when they discussed the baby. If he’d paid any attention to Jay at all he would have noticed the feeding change months ago.

“Isn’t the baby a year old now?”

“The World Health Organization recommends two years.”

“I’m not waiting another year,” Jason growled.

Kaitlin drew in a startled breath but forced herself to continue looking into his inhuman eyes. “I’m not asking you to.” She wound a hand around Jason’s neck and leaned in close to place a soft kiss on his lips that he didn’t return. Not a good sign. “But I should at least wean him slowly.”

“Why don’t you want to turn?” Jason asked.

“Don’t be silly.” Kaitlin ran a finger across his smooth, pale jaw, remembering how it had sported a five o’clock shadow the first time she’d seen him. The first time they’d made love. The night they’d unintentionally made Jay – not that she’d change that part now. Only what came later. “Of course I want to live forever. You know me. I live for ‘happily ever after.’”

“I had to drag you down the stairs,” Jason said. “You’ve been distant since the thrall wore off. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Kaitlin’s mind raced. What were the right words? What would put off the inevitable? She had no idea, so she ended up blurting, “Why did the thrall wear off?”

“Something Xavier did,” Jason said dismissively. “He says it will make you a stronger vampire.”

Will it make me stronger now, when I really need it? Kaitlin wondered, but did not ask.

“Now answer my question” Jason continued. “Why don’t you want to turn? You weren’t in thrall when you first ran away with me.”

“I’m nervous. Weren’t you nervous before you turned? Xavier said it took months to convince you.”

“I was a hunter, brought up within my order to believe vampires are soulless monsters.”

Are you? Kaitlin wanted to ask. Even now, she wasn’t sure “soulless” was the right word. Something lurked behind Jason’s eyes – and even Xavier’s. She just wasn’t sure it was anything she wanted to be a part of.

“Well, I may know better,” Kaitlin began, “but I’m still not sure… I mean…” She cast about wildly for an idea. Something to delay the inevitable. Anything. And finally, she settled on the truth. Or part of it. “You’ve changed. I don’t pretend to understand how. I didn’t know you well before I ran off with you; we only had the one night together. Mostly, I knew you from stories your cousin Cassie told.”

“You know me now,” Jason said, sliding a finger down her slender throat. “You’ve known me for a year. Haven’t I treated you well?”

“Of course you have,” Kaitlin said. “You know I love you.” She leaned forward, letting the top of her button-down silk shirt part slightly, though Jason didn’t seem as taken with cleavage as normal men. His favorite parts of her were the throat, wrists, and inner thighs.

“I haven’t cheated on you,” Jason said. “I haven’t hit you. I haven’t even asked you to get a job. I take care of you.”

“And Jay?” Kaitlin asked, because what he said was sort of true. It wasn’t a high standard, but she’d chosen some real losers in her time who had done all those things – cheated on her, hit her, and sponged off her hard work while they decided they didn’t need a job.

Perhaps if she’d known Jason better in life she could be more certain now that he wasn’t the same man. After all, aside from the bloodsucking thing there wasn’t anything she could specifically put her finger on that was any different from regular imperfect mortals. Some men ignored their children. Some men were up at all hours of the night and slept all day. Some men only seemed to notice her when they needed something from her – blood or sex, it was all the same.

But it all came down to the one thing she knew for sure about Jason: He had loved his son. He had cared so much that he had died to protect the baby from his own father, who had planned to body-hop into Jason, then again into Jay when he was old enough. Jason even turned into a vampire – a being he’d been trained to hate – so he would still be able to guard his son in death. And maybe the vampire Jason would protect Jay if ever put to the test, but Kaitlin wasn’t sure how he would even know the baby was in danger.

The vampire almost didn’t seem wholly connected to this world. He didn’t see it the same way humans saw it. There was something alien in his eyes and cold in his touc h – and it wasn’t just the fact that no blood ran through his veins. Maybe the vampire hunters had it wrong, maybe he wasn’t entirely evil (though she wouldn’t say the same about Xavier), but she didn’t trust the vampire sitting beneath her. He wanted to seduce her into turning for reasons she could not possibly fathom, like trying to understand the will of God.

“Who will take care of Jay after I turn?” Kaitlin asked.

“You will.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Sara will. Or we’ll hire someone else. What does it matter?”

Indeed. “Just give me a few days. I told you I need to wean the baby. I can do it quickly. We’ll drop one feeding per day so that will be…” Kaitlin tried to think. How many times per day did a one-year-old nurse? Well, she’d go with the number of bottles she gave him a day and figure it was close enough. Jason wouldn’t know the difference. “… four days.”

“And in four days you’re going to want to turn?” Jason asked. “I want you to want this, Kaitlin. Xavier says it goes better when they want it.”

“I do want it. Of course I want it.” She placed soft kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his ear. He lifted his face to give her better access, making her think she had convinced him. Lulling him into a false sense of security.

“Liar!” He shoved her off his lap, not onto the couch, but onto the ground. Kaitlin, not expecting the movement, fell heavily to the hardwood floor and yelped when her bottom connected with the unyielding surface.

“Jason?”

He stood, towering over her, and she scooted backwards on hands and knees, getting tangled in her long blonde hair.

“Xavier intercepted that e-mail you sent to Cassie the other day,” Jason said, stalking her as she scuttled across the floor.

“What?” Oh no. But that did explain Sara. And why Cassie hadn’t replied.

“You were going to give away the baby.”

“Why not?” Kaitlin asked. “You don’t want him! You said it didn’t matter who raised him. You can’t even call him yours! Or even by his name.”

“He’s not mine,” Jason said. “But this host wants him, and so do I.”

Kaitlin’s eyes widened. This was the first time Jason had ever let slip a hint that he was not now the same person he had been before he’d turned.

“You can’t run from this fate,” Jason said.

Kaitlin’s scrambling hands had found the edge of the stone fireplace and she stopped, able to m ove no further. Jason knelt to loom over her, cupping her face in his hands. From anyone else, it might have been a caress.

“Cassie and Evan can’t protect you or the boy, you know,” Jason said. “Evan’s strong, but he’s never been much use against a vampire. I should know. I saved his life once.”

“You did? Or your host?”

Jason scowled. “There’s no place you can run. No one to protect you. Give up. Give in. Come gracefully.”

He still wanted her to agree to this, Kaitlin realized. He still wanted her willing cooperation. She had no idea why, but she’d take any opening she could get. “Three days. Give me three days.”

“We have your blood,” Jason said.

“So?” Kaitlin asked.

“Didn’t you learn anything about magic from Cassie? I haven’t just eaten from you. I have your blood, and I’m a sorcerer as well as a vampire. I can use it to find you anywhere on this planet, so unless you can get to Mars, you can’t hide from me.”

“Oh.” Kaitlin was shaking now. She wished she’d thought to start a fire in the fireplace behind her, though she doubted the warmth would have penetrated.

“Tomorrow night,” Jason said. “That’s as much time as I’ll give you to prepare.”

A reprieve. She had no idea how, but she had a reprieve. Twenty-four hours wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had a few minutes ago.

“Tell me you understand,” Jason said. “Tell me you’ll come to me tomorrow. Tell me like you mean it.”

“I understand,” Kaitlin said.

And then she wound her arms around Jason, kissing him for all she was worth. She explored his mouth with teeth and tongue, tracing the outline of his fangs. He bit her lip, stinging her for a moment before the pain-numbing property of the vampire venom set in. After a minute, he drew his head back, traced the column of her neck with his index finger, and sank his teeth in with such force that for a moment she thought he’d snapped her neck.

“Oh!” she cried, trying to make it sound like a moan. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel as good as it once had, especially now that she worried Jason wasn’t planning to wait another night after all. What if he took every last drop? What if he drained her dry? He had never pulled from her so hard or drunk so long.

“Jason!” Kaitlin finally cried. “Please. You said tomorrow.”

He pulled back, fangs and lips stained red with her blood. The venom coagulated the wound so she wouldn’t bleed out, but she felt so lightheaded she wondered if she’d lost too much blood anyway.

Jason ran his thumb across his lips. “Yes, tomorrow night.”

“Blood replenishment potion?”

“No.” Jason rose to his feet, taking several deliberate steps away from her. “I don’t think I want you strong enough to escape.”

“You said there was no escape.”

Jason didn’t answer, he just turned and walked away, leaving Kaitlin on the floor, her head spinning, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her pulse weak and thready. But she wasn’t dead yet, and as long as she wasn’t dead, there remained hope.