Flash Friday: “Dubious Rescue”

“Dubious Rescue” – Excerpted from Guardians, Inc: NIGHT WATCH

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

            Maya Guardian sat half in the shadow of the ballroom, trying to pretend she didn’t see the speculative looks, or hear the cruel whispers of her colleagues.  It was a curse, the Guardian gift she received.  Hearing the unspoken, and the barely whispered, was more of a curse than a gift – as much of a curse to Maya as inheriting the Maxwell genes was.

            Maya winced inwardly.  Her mother called her robust, and she was her father’s princess.  She barely held in her derisive snort.  Like she believed that.  Cinderella never wore a size eighteen ball gown.  Maya knew the truth.  She was fat – it was that simple.  That her bone structure was more dense than her siblings’, or that she spent at least an hour every day in the gym of her building, or even that she obsessed away her teenage years trying to starve herself to normal, didn’t make a lick of difference.  She was apparently doomed to her overabundance of curves, and she saw the looks, heard the thoughts of everyone whenever she entered the courtroom.  How could a woman who’d clearly let herself go make such a formidable attorney?

            Angry with herself, Maya took a healthy slug of wine, and told herself she wouldn’t regret either the calories or the hangover, in the morning.

            “May I remove you from your drink, before you drown in it?”

            Maya’s attention jerked around at the Old World cadence of those words, and her throat stalled mid-swallow, leading to the most unladylike coughing fit.  She winced, aware of what society’s elite, all around them, thought.  Slob.  Cow.  She wished she could just close her ears to them all.

            “What matter are they?”  Those smooth words, touched with the hint of an accent she couldn’t quite place, murmured near enough to her ear that Maya gasped, shaken to the core.  She turned her head, and found herself face-to-face with a man who put her most vivid fantasies to shame.

            This close, she could see the slight imperfections – the scar on his temple, the slight bump that indicated his nose had been broken more than once, the thin lines that feathered his eyes and mouth.  Somehow, though, they all worked.  It just plain wasn’t fair that wrinkles made men distinguished, and women old, she thought perversely.

            He chuckled, as if he could somehow read her thoughts.  Her mental snort of derision at her own whimsical nature was cut short when, without missing a beat, he murmured, “Why worry about wrinkles?  I am certain you will age with as much beauty and grace as your sainted mother.”

            Her eyes narrowed.  “She’s not dead.”

            He inclined his head in apology.  “I know.”

            Dread crawled along her spine.  The only people in this miserable city who would know about Eryn Guardian were Para and… “Are you Crucibani?”

            That earned her a deep, rumbling chuckle, and his oddly teal eyes sparkled with mischief.  “My dear, dear lady!  If I were to cross their threshold, those so-called holy men would see me strung up by my own entrails.”

            Maya winced at the graphic description, but refused to be distracted.  “Which means you’re…”

            One sandy blond brow raised, and his mouth quirked in amusement.  “Indeed.”

            She waited silently, but he never showed so much as a single nerve.  Instead, he merely inclined his head and intoned, “Conner Shaw.”

            Her eyes widened.  She’d heard his name, before.  Her brother, Jason, claimed Shaw was the only blooded, living vampire he’d ever trust at his back.  Still… “What brings you to me, Mr. Shaw?”

            “I need some… very delicate legal advice.”

            Given what that usually meant for vampires, Maya resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands and groan.  The last thing she needed right now was some renegade vampire with a lust for blood, energy, or whatever the hell he lived off of, making a mess of her life.  She was handling that just fine, thanks.

Flash Friday: “A Dangerous Kind of Help” (Adult Content)

Flash Friday: “A Dangerous King of Help” – excerpted from Guardians, Inc : DOUBLE TAKE

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

Jesse paused in his office doorway, not sure if he was more surprised that Analeise was talking to thin air, or that she was actually there. His wry glance passed over the clutter of books that hadn’t been there when he left, either. Apparently, she raided Jason’s archives. Wonder if Jason knew.

“Damn it!” The sudden oath, punctuated by the sharp sound of flesh striking wood as she slapped the desk – hard – snapped Jesse from his musing. She looked pissed, and the furious light in her eyes shouldn’t turn him on, but damned if it did. Lust surged toward his groin, and he stifled his groan only through sheer force of will. So he had a thing for bad girls. No surprise there; Natalya had been as bad as they come, and he fell head-over-heels for her.

Jesse heaved a silent snort of disgust. Natalya should be all the warning he needed to stay away from Analeise. Tangling with another bad girl was liable to get him killed, even if that was more difficult these days. His eyes fixed back on her, and the rush of heat was instantaneous at the memory of her hot, welcoming body and eager responses. Both heat and memory were expected, though neither was appreciated. Still, it was the tiny twist in his gut at the layer of vulnerability beneath that anger that bothered him most. She looked innocent, and that was such a contradiction he wanted to grin, but his swollen, split lip protested the attempt, and he hissed in pain.

Analeise’s head jerked up, a gasp of surprise flying from her, and she stared at him as if he was a ghost. The irony of it was, without Victor, he would be – twice, now. He uttered a bitter laugh, but it ended on a groan as his bruised ribs protested. Good thing he was a fast healer, these days. A year ago, a beating like that would have laid him out for a good week, if he survived it. Now, a good night’s rest, and he’d be right as rain, as he mother put it; or, as right as a man under a vampire’s curse could be, anyway.

“You’re bleeding!” He didn’t realize she moved, but her hand was suddenly there, a cotton handkerchief in it, pressed against his mouth. He jerked away with a surprised hiss as the thrum of the pulse in her wrist filled his ears.

Goddammit! Jesse clamped down on the impulse that urged him to take her arm, and sink his teeth into her soft, warm flesh. Strong as the urge was, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the ritual of Turning – he burned it into his brain those first few months after Victor’s impromptu gift, terrified he had no choice but to become a monster. He couldn’t begin to describe his relief when he discovered that wasn’t true.

Turning a living human being into a living vampire was an elaborate ritual, full of ceremony and magic. At least, most of the time. Problem was, there was no recorded precedent, no history for cases like his, where a vampire essentially gave a life-saving transfusion. It just wasn’t done. The closest Jesse could find, in a year of desperate searching, was the mention of a young girl from the fourteenth century who was miraculously restored to health after a terrible fall, by a nameless traveler. Unfortunately, the story didn’t leave him with much hope. By the account, later the same year the girl accidentally swallowed some blood while tending to an injured family member, and became an unnatural creature. She was eventually burned as a witch, for her thirst for human blood. Jesse’s stomach had plummeted after reading that. One taste was all it took to Turn her. One accident. How many bloody scenes did a cop – particularly a homicide detective – see in a week? Too many. So he quit the force, unwilling to take that chance. It didn’t even matter that he knew better, now – that drinking blood was useless to a living vampire.  It didn’t even matter to know that it was the energy in the blood, not the blood itself, that he would really be absorbing. Whenever his adrenaline surged, the urges were there, and they terrified him. He feared it was only a matter of time.

No. He dragged his mind from the thought with a shudder. It wouldn’t happen. Not to him. Jesse Guardian would not become a damned monster. Hell, he was probably damned anyway, but at least he could still make a conscious choice. He could choose to avoid temptation, to not take that first taste. He could choose to avoid the subtle scent, the rich, sweet wine of blood, the siren pulse of energy…

He yanked his mind from the thought with a muttered oath. He wasn’t about to go that route, damn it all. Especially not with this woman; she already fascinated him too much. He blinked, and found her watching him with worried mocha eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, and focused beyond her, on the desk where she’d been sitting when he came in. “What are you doing here?”

Her brows knit as she backed off a step, and her dark eyes searched his face. “Helping you. I think you should go to the hospital and–”

“I’m fine,” he repeated sharply, with one upraised hand when she would have continued her protest. “Really. And I didn’t expect you to stay here all night.”

That flash of vulnerability was back, and something else that tugged him toward her like an invisible guide wire. She met his gaze, and the smoky quality of her eyes sucked the breath from him. Her tongue darted over those lush lips, and he could barely focus on the words that followed, through the lust roaring in his ears. “I… I wanted to help.”

“Help?” Was that croak really his voice? He swallowed hard, even as a hundred images of how she could help him right this moment cascaded through his mind.

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”  – Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BETWEEN WORLDS

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

She was so cold.  The wind here on the shore was bitter, chilled by the storm that raged around her.  Csilla huddled in the cavern, watching as sthe boats were made ready.

“Are you ready, Gatekeeper?”

She turned at the sound of a masculine voice, to find Sargon beside her, tall and strong in his armor, the glow of his charge shining around him even from where it rested, secure in the scabbard at his side.  She shuddered to think that, of them all, only she was a real danger.  Only her charge could bring them all back to this place, and only her charge could be forced from her grasp by any manner besides death.

“Go, Warrior,” she whispered, already aware of what she must do.  And yet, she could not tell these men, her soul-brothers, what she planned.  They would surely halt her plan, if they knew how she meant to protect them all.  “I am weary, and will bide here a while.”

He frowned.  “It is not safe, Csilla.  Already, Arachaena swarm the mountain above us.  They must not find us here.”

She looked out toward the storm-tossed waves whose peace she once found solace in.  Sadness gripped her that she would leave this behind, and she hugged her cloak tighter about her shoulders.  There was no help for it.  This was as it must be.

“I shall follow directly.  Have Mykalos tie me a boat in yon rocks.”

Sargon sighed, but relented.  Truly, he was too tender to a woman’s comfort; she feared that would bring him to ill ends.  “Do not linger too long, Csilla.”

She smiled up at him, careful that he did not read her sorrow.  “I will be gone before they arrive.”

With a nod, his eyes wary, Sargon left her and headed for the boats beyond.  Csilla sighed, and shivered slightly as she rested her back against the cool rocks.  She felt the weight of the knife concealed beneath her cloak.  She would keep her promise.  Only, it would not be as Sargon believed.

Find out more about this series at www.esthermitchell.com/projectmain

Read IN HER NAME, HOPE OF HEAVEN, and SHADOW WALKER today!  Find them at:

www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html

www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/paranormal/romance/shadow-walker/prod_219.html

Flash Friday: “In a Demon’s Wake”

Today’s Flash comes from one of the most unique and unusual books I’ve ever written.  While definitely highly on the paranormal side of fiction, this book is unique even among its series-mates, in that it involves a culture many don’t even realize still exists beneath the fabric of other cultures and religions.  I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it.  You can find the full novel by visiting www.aspenmountainpress.com

Disclaimer:  This scene contains descriptions of violence of a graphic nature and language some may find offensive.  Reader discretion is advised.

“In a Demon’s Wake” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: IN HER NAME

copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

            “We went in there with orders not to kill anyone.  But no one told us the revolutionaries knew anything about bombs or planting mines.  Four of my team got blown to pieces when they tripped some hidden claymores.”

            Manara gasped at those words, every muscle in her body tensed as if he physically struck her.  The memory of the canyon flooded over her.  Blessed Ishtar, she let it happen again!  No wonder he didn’t trust her!  She tried to pull away, sick with her own sins, but his arms were like steel bands around her waist and his gaze, when she turned to look at him, was fixed in another time.

            “I guess I just flipped out or something.  I don’t really remember.  All I remember is turning the teams loose and telling them to waste every goddamned gook they saw.” 

            Manara saw the pain flash across his face, heard the hollow regret in his words.  This, she realized, was but one of his demons, spawned from whatever great evil had torn loose that piece of his soul.  Sadly, she knew his tale wasn’t over.  Covering his hands with her own, she asked, “What happened?”

            His gaze came back to her and Manara wanted to weep at the coldness of his eyes.  This was the man she didn’t know¾the one she saw only a glimpse of when his demons held her prisoner.  “They did exactly what I said.  Afterward, we found out there weren’t any revolutionaries in that village.  Just farmers.  The claymores were leftovers from V.C. plants in the Seventies.  They just weren’t uncovered until my men triggered them.  I ordered an entire village wiped out, for nothing.  Nothing!”

            Tears welled up in Manara’s eyes as she watched him struggle with the evil truth he held silent for so long, a mistake such a good man could only suffer under.

            “Matthew.”  She reached to stroke his cheek.  “You cannot blame yourself when the true fault lies with another.  Who made that madman?  What was her name?”

            He swallowed hard and Manara’s heart broke for him.  To live with such painful secrets…  His eyes met hers; she saw surprise, and then gratitude, light within the depths of his darkness.  He knew she understood; perhaps that would make his tale easier for him to share.  A sigh left him and his eyes closed as he hugged her to him and the words flowed out.

            “Her name was Rachel Murray, and I was all of fourteen years old.”

Guest Author: Adrianne Brennan’s BLOOD OF THE DARK MOON

This is an excerpt from Blood of the Dark Moon, originally published by Aphrodite’s Apples and now contracted through Freya’s Bower:

Some time after they had left the diner, Amanda could only guess that they were venturing further into Queens and would soon, perhaps, be in Long Island. She kept scrutinizing the roads and the signs, looking for places she recognized. Unfortunately, she hadn’t traveled very much out of Manhattan during her stay at NYU and so nothing looked familiar to her. She settled for chatting with Jesse and enjoying the view from her window.

It was almost midnight when Jesse finally pulled off a major road and stopped at a nearby rest stop. He parked the car off to the side and gestured towards the sky.

“You can’t see this in Manhattan. Damn, it’s beautiful.”

She stared up at the sky and saw all of the individual stars that had been obscured by the pollution from the city. Amanda leaned back against the car, finding herself awed by the majesty of the sky combined with the gentle, clean breezes that swept through her hair. Away from the highway and the noises of the city to distract her, she experienced the outdoors at its fullest. She was spinning away in the galaxy towards the stars.

With a flourish, Jesse opened up the back door of the car.

“Here, sit down with me.” He sat on the seat and pulled her onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, they gazed up together at the night sky.

“Gods, it’s beautiful,” she breathed.

As he brushed her hair away from her face he merely commented, “And so are you.”

She turned to smile at him before resting her head onto his chest. They stayed that way for a few moments until Amanda began to feel that something was odd. She racked her brain to figure it out, still bedazzled by the night sky and the feeling of being in his arms, but couldn’t think of it.

Then at last she realized what it was: her ear was up against his chest, but she couldn’t feel nor hear a heartbeat.

Puzzled, Amanda wondered if it was just because his leather jacket muffled the sound, but that couldn’t have been it. At their close proximity, she should still be able to hear or feel something.

Figuring that the late hour and the fatigue were doing strange things to her mind, she dismissed it as her imagination. But in the silence between them, away from the city and the noise, the only breathing she heard was her own.

I must be losing it. But as she stared up into the sky, too many things fell into her mind, persistent in their logic. Amanda had never seen Jesse during the daylight, had never seen him more than perhaps taste food, didn’t know what he did for a living other than “freelance computer work”, and now she couldn’t hear a heartbeat nor him breathing.

“Jesse?” she queried, her hesistency showing in her voice.

Feeling him freeze behind her, she wondered if he knew what was on her mind, and thought to phrase her next words with caution.

“You’re not a normal guy, are you? I mean,” she continued, trying not to rush through her words, let alone sound nervous, “not that I’m…all that normal myself, and all, but….” Her voice trailed off. Amanda did not know what to say, or how to say it.

Many moments passed without a response. With great deliberateness he ran his hands through her hair, and she delighted in the feel of his fingertips as they coursed through the strands, brushing against her neck as soft as silk.

In that moment she remembered their first dinner outing, when Jesse showed her the Latin magickal text which referred to strange allegories, symbols and various arcana. She recalled that the text kept referencing “blood” in some mystical context.

“Jesse?” Her voice was quieter, and she was no longer so certain that she was crazy.

Your time has come.

Flash Friday: “The Seer’s Curse”

“The Seer’s Curse”

copyright 2004 by Esther Mitchell

Smoke curled up from the city below, and the distant sounds of death and battle filled Ausar’s ears.  His nostrils flared with the scent of burnt flesh and fresh blood, and rage coiled in his gut to know that Onuris’ minions were the genesis of this slaughter.  As the Crophines‘ Seer, his was the responsibility to guide Ali-Antos towards a bright future.  Why had he not foreseen this?  Why did he receive no warning, no way by which to prepare the people of Ali-Antos for battle?  It was as if the Great Gods mocked him, reminding him that, while he was immortal within the confines of Aermornosa, he was still fallibly human.  Now, the people he was sworn to guide and protect were helpless lambs at the altar of Onuris’ lust for blood and power.

A low, lupine growl rumbled through his chest, and his pupils drank in the light as the wildness within gripped him.  If not for his position, he would be down there, in the thick of battle.  The Gods gifted him with an ability that could turn the tide of the struggle in the city below.  But the weight of the Medicine pouch slung across his chest reminded him that he was bound by other covenants.  He must defend his charge, regardless of the cost.  Which meant he must leave this place.  When the Sodalitas Arachaena arrived at Aermornosa’s gates, they must find nothing of use.

“We must go.”

He turned toward the voice, to meet the dark gaze of the Musir to his left.   Sargon.  The Warrior among them.  Quickly, his gaze flashed over the rest.  Lugh, Mykalos, Csilla.  These were the only family he knew, and he would defend them with his life’s blood.

“It is time, Shadow Walker,” Sargon nodded toward the hidden tunnel that led to the docks only the Elder Musir knew existed.  There, boats would carry them to the far reaches of the Earth, to hide their charges.  They would never see each other again.  And the darkness that filled Ausar had only one bright spot of light.  He had seen the future, in his mirror.  One day, the Gods would bring the five sacred artifacts back to Aermornosa, and return the balance.  Peace settled over him.  That knowledge was comfort enough.

Discover PROJECT PROMETHEUS today!  Join the struggle between light and darkness with

IN HER NAME

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html )

HOPE OF HEAVEN

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html )

and SHADOW WALKER

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/shadow-walker/prod_219.html )

Flash Friday: “Accidental Vampire”

FLASH FRIDAY:  “Accidental Vampire” – Excerpted from CRIMSON ROSE*

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

“You are a vampire.”

She sounded  skeptical.  Hell, she looked skeptical.  Geronimo sighed. No one ever said this confession stuff was easy.  Might as well bite the bullet.  “Yeah.”

Claire rolled her eyes.  “And you cannot come up with a better lie than that?”

“It’s not a lie!”

“Juste.  A vampire who walks in daylight.”  She threw up her hands in disgust.  “Now I have heard everything!”

The problem dawned on Gerry, then, and he cursed beneath his breath.  This wasn’t about her not believing in vampires.  This was about what she believed about them.  A dark smile tugged his lips.

“There’s more than one kind of vampire, Claire.”

One slim, blond brow lifted.  She still looked unconvinced.  “C’est fait?  I have not heard of vampires who are not…how would you say? Allergic to sunlight.”

He leaned against the tree, following her restless motions as she paced in a tight circle.  “You’ve got Hollywood brainwashing, is what you’ve got.  Nosferatu can be killed by sunlight, supposedly.  They’re essentially dead, anyway, which I guess makes them susceptible.  I am not, and nor have I ever been, dead.  In fact, I’ve never met a Nosferatu.”

She whipped about to face him.  “Then how–?”

This was more difficult.  “About ten years ago, I was investigating a chemical weapons facility as part of a team like START.  I assume you’ve heard of them?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, well, some people aren’t as accomodating as the Russians were.  The entire team stumbled into an unshielded nuclear site.  Radiation poisoning killed everyone else on the team.  Somehow, I got lucky.”  He couldn’t keep the scornful irony out of his voice if he tried, so he didn’t.  “My blood was irradiated.  The doctors never saw anything like it, before, and they weren’t sure what to do with me.  They figured they could treat it like leukemia.  Just give me a bone marrow transplant and new blood.”

“It did not work?”

“Hell, no.”  He ran a hand through his hair.  “Some kind of mutation had already taken place, and the new blood just kept dying.  Even worse, I was drained all the time, so tired it took more effort than I had just to lift my arm.”

She looked curious now, and at least she was listening again.  “How did they fix it?”

“They never really did.  Matt found someone who’d developed a serum that slows the rate of blood death, and allows me to function longer without a transfusion, but I still need blood.  And I need energy, which I get by feeding off the energy of others.  A psychic vampire.”

The tip of her tongue darted over her lips, and her eyes telegraphed nerves her expression didn’t otherwise show.  “And how do you… feed?”

Hunger and humor blended in him as he watched that tongue move.  This probably went way beyond what she was ready to accept about their partnership.  His desire for her certainly did.  “Blood or energy?”

“B-both.”

He pushed off from the tree, ate up the space between them in a single, fluid motion.  “I get normal blood transfusions.  Drinking blood would be useless.  It just breaks down in the stomach.  As for energy,” he closed the distance until even a breath wouldn’t fit between them.  Hunger churned in him as he stared down into her emerald eyes.  Slowly, he dipped his head toward hers, and softly brushed his lips across hers, causing her eyes to widen as she sucked in a surprised breath.  His lips tugged up in a seductive smile.  “I’m afraid I’d have to show you.”

 

*This scene is unedited. Please allow for typographical errors.

Flash Friday: “Bloodsucker”

Tired of vampires that sparkle?  Sick of the Hollywood stereotype?  *grins* Here’s an excerpt from a new series I’m working on, that takes the paranormal out of Hollywood, and brings it back to the original myths and legends spawned by thousands of years of folklore.  Enjoy!

“Bloodsucker” – Excerpted from Guardians, Inc: DOUBLE TAKE

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

            “You need blood.”  Analeise pushed up her sleeve and shoved her bare arm into his face.  “Take mine.”

            Her pulse was a rapid flutter of fear.  Jesse scowled at her.  “What are you doing?”

            “You need to feed—”

            “I’m not a damned vampire!”  He snarled the words at her, and watched her shift backward in fear, her eyes wide and her breathing ragged.  Then she steeled herself and moved deliberately forward.  He glared at her.  “And even if I was, I sure as hell wouldn’t be getting blood that way.”

            “I-I don’t understand…”

            He rolled his head, aching like hell now that the potion was finally transmuting the poison in his system. That had been too close a call.  “Living vampires can’t drink blood, Ana.  It just breaks down in the stomach like any other protein source.”

            Her stunned expression would have been funny, had he not felt so miserable.  “Then how…?”

            Dark humor curled his lips. He’d wondered that, himself, right after he found out that the man who saved his life was a vampire.  And the more he discovered, the less he wanted to be one of them.  “They inject it.  Living vampires only need a small amount of blood to feed the vampiric cells in their bodies.  They still have their own blood; it’s just been changed.”

            “But the biting –“

            “Mostly Revenants, and it almost never has anything to do with a search for food.  It’s usually an instinct driven by rage or revenge.  And yes, Living vampires can bite, as well.  Their bite releases a paralytic agent in their saliva into the victims.”

            She nodded, as if she expected this.  “The vampire’s kiss.”

            He winced, his hand raising to the scar on his neck as he remembered.  He’d beg to differ on the kiss part – there was no pleasure in the sensation.  It was a terrifying experience to be incapable of movement while a sinister killer feasted on your blood or flesh, or both.  He shuddered.  “It’s how they keep the victim immobile.”

            Jesse struggled up, trying to regain his feet.  Before he made it the whole way to standing, Analeise was there, inserting herself beneath his arm to help lever him up from the floor.  “For a man who denies being a vampire, you sure know a lot about them.”

            “Research,” he muttered, then groaned as a fresh wave of pain rushed through his side, and the coldness seeped further into his body.  Shit.  He was running out of time.

Flash Friday: “Love So Deadly”

This week’s Flash Friday is the culmination of two of my favourite areas – history, and the paranormal.  Opening in Rhode Island shortly before the start of the Revolutionary War, the Work-In-Progress this passage is taken from, LADY’S LAMENT, it absorbs all the history of the period, and the danger of being a privateer in an age of upheaval.  Then, it fast-forwards to modern day, as a paranormal investigator takes on a challenge she never saw coming – tangling with the ghost of a man determined to make her remember.

“Love So Deadly” 

copyright 2009 by Esther Mitchell

            “The Cap’n, he be acomin’, Mistress!  An’ he look fit for the storms of Hell, he does!”  The brogue-laden words of Brigit, Caroline’s Irish lady’s maid, reached Royce’s ears, even as he mounted the stairs, and his lips twisted in a dark smirk.  Oh, aye, he was in a fit, and his lady-love should well know why, if the rumors he heard were true.

            Ah, Caro, how could you?  Cold comfort enough, the news borne by the Continental Congress, that the Colonies were to go to war.  Normally, war would profit him most fortuitously.  Hadn’t he procured the funds for this lavish estate from the war between England and France, ended just twelve years ago?  Even as young and new to the fine arts of the privateer as he’d been, back then, he secured his fortune in those turbulent waters of the channel, and then added to them by plundering French merchant vessels from the West Indies in the name of King George, in the years since.  And still, Caro would not marry him.  Though he gave her lush estates, and provided her with everything she could want, she claimed she could not marry a man who made his fortune on the blood of another.

            She was returning to Boston.   His scowl returned in force, and rage prowled his soul.  He gave her everything, squandered his immortal soul at the Devil’s table, for nothing more than her love.  And now he learned she could not be bought.

            “Damnation!”  He spun on the stair, his fist flying of its own will, to crash against the timbered walls with a terrible splintering of wood.

            “Royce!”  The voice from above him on the stair was sweet, and laced with shocked disapproval.  Ah, how he wished to truly offend his lady’s delicate sensibilities!  Images flooded his mind as he stared up at her, standing at the top of the stairs like a goddess over her erring petitioner.

            “You’re leaving.”  He spat the words out in a fury as he lunged up the remaining steps between them, heedless of the mud on his boots upon the expensive carpeting.

            She stood her ground, which drew a grudging smile from him.  That was one thing he loved most about his Caro.  She never backed down.  “Yes.”

            A simple enough statement.  Another man might have taken it at its worth.  But he was not another man, and he already made a bargain with the Devil, to have her here.  Without Caroline, he was already damned.

            “No!”  He roared the word as he covered the final inches between them, and yanked her hard against his body.  “You belong here.”

            “Unhand me, you beast!”  She shoved at his chest.  “How can you say I belong here, when here I am nothing but miserable?  I am not your property, and you cannot buy me – not with coin, and not with demands.”

            “Have I not given you everything I have to give, ungrateful wench!”  He could not control his tongue.  After weeks of fear, terror that he would arrive to find her already gone, his temper ran unchecked.  “Perhaps I should just take what I have already paid for, then!”

            He would not harm her.  It was not in what little remained of his soul to ever cause her harm.  Yet, he craved one taste of her, and the chance to convince her to stay.  Yanking her hard against him, he slanted his mouth over hers, and plundered willfully, the pirate he truly was. 

            Caroline’s body went rigid against his, and he heard a soft snick, like a knife loosed from its sheath.  Breaking his hold, he barely heard her soft whisper, before heat pierced his chest, and the world began to darken.  But, as he stared up into her tear-filled eyes, he knew he was betrayed, and her words were his last companion into the darkness.

            Forgive me, my love.

            He would not.  He could not.  She had consigned him to the Devil, but as life ebbed away from him, he made a promise to them both.  One day, he would return.  And she would pay for what she did.

Flash Friday: “On Guard”

“On Guard” -excerpted from Project Prometheus’ SHADOW WALKER

copyright 2002 by Esther Mitchell

     The dark woman pushed open the door to Starbuck’s and stepped out into the busy street of downtown Washington D.C.  It was midday, and the local restaurants and coffee shops were bursting with the midday crowd.  The two people in the non-descript sedan exchanged looks.  The man lifted his cell phone and punched the speed dial before lifting the unit to his ear.

     “This is Wolf One, checking in.  Den mother secure.”

     The woman in the passenger seat shifted restlessly.  “This is a waste of time, Ryan.  She’s not in any danger.”

     Ryan McCauley glanced at his partner, his lips flickering up in a small smile.  “I know you hate babysitting details, Shayne, but the boss has a feeling about this one.”

     She scowled and flicked strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder.  “You mean his wife has a feeling.  Why aren’t they the ones out here, letting their asses go numb in a rented car?”

     Ryan chuckled.  Shayne loved dramatics, and the profiler in him enjoyed the challenge of dealing with her shifting moods.  “They’re not even in country, Shayne, and you know it.  Besides—”

     What he was about to say was cut off as a dark van sped toward Gayle as she stepped from the curb at the cross-walk.

     “He’s going to hit her!”  Shayne was out of the car before Ryan could react, sprinting across the distance between them and Trevor’s sister like the distance runner she was.

     “Son of a bitch!”  Ryan slapped the steering wheel and punched the redial button even as he gunned the car to life.  “Control, this is Wolf One.  We have a situation.  Request back-up.”

     There was a screech of rubber on icy asphalt, and Shayne’s scream for Gayle to get back, before the redhead threw herself toward Gayle, tackling her in a roll that carried them both out of harm’s way.

     “Back-up enroute, Wolf One.  Please advise of situation.”  Julia Williams’ clipped voice filled his ear as Ryan jammed on the brakes and stared after the van that almost ran Gayle Burman down, unable to believe his eyes.  The van screeched around the corner, and he saw a familiar face through the open side door of the van, before it slammed shut.  Sickness lurched through him.  No way was Matt going to like this.

     “Be advised, there’s been an attempted kidnapping.  The Brotherhood just tried to pick up the den mother.”

     “You’re sure?”

     His mouth set in a grim line.  “I saw Red Widow.”