Synopsis: When her plane crashes into the ocean, Zanas
is dropped into a brutal world of survival.She soon learns that this is no ordinary place, as the land mutates all
that live within its borders.Her sister
is kidnapped and taken beneath,
thrusting Zanas into the middle of a primitive society, where she will find her
death, or her destiny.
Ecerpt from Chapter 8: First Blood
Her breath came out in
small, excited gasps, her teeth bared, blood dripping down her chin.She could hear the sound of her own growling,
as her heart pounded in her chest.Her
vision began to clear slightly and her team came into view, reminding her of
another hunting party she had hunted with.Just like that party, she found all eyes staring at her, and recognized
the familiar emotion…respect.
Zanas found herself face to face with him. She looked into his eyes searching
for the other emotion she always saw in people once they had truly seen her for
what she was, a predator.But she saw
nothing but wild excitement reflected in his
eyes.
There was no
fear.
Excerpt from Chapter 16 ~ Revenge
The
noise of the crowd changed with the scent of blood in the air. Zanas was
surrounded by glowing green eyes, the eyes of predators in frenzy. Desstina was
coming at her again. This time her flying hand found only air. Zanas grabbed the
girl by her neck, slamming Desstina’s head into her knee. Desstina dropped to
the floor, cradling her nose. She seemed finished. Then the words of Dressdon
echoed in her mind, just as Desstina catapulted herself upward, her fist
outstretched. She made contact with the center of Zanas’s face. The force of the
blow knocked Zanas on her back, and Desstina leaped atop her.
The
crowd was screaming now. They seemed to be like exotic dancers, as they moved
their bodies in a swell, like waves smashing on the beach. Desstina wrapped her
hands tightly around Zanas’s neck digging her sharp claws into the flesh. Time
stopped for Zanas, only the taste of her blood in her mouth and the sound of her
beating heart.
Author's
thoughts of Pursuer: The story of Pursuer is set in a wild land of
mystery. Zanas and her twin sister Asenya find themselves transported to
this world without any explanation of how they came to be there. Their
adoptive parents perished in the journey and they are all that is left
of their family. They are welcomed by a warrior people, the children of
Alwahi.
Asenya is kidnapped and taken below, a
world that exists deep beneath the surface. To find her sister Zanas
joins the deadly Pursuers, a clan that thrives on blood and the hunt.
The world she finds herself in holds a beauty that she never believed
possible, as well as a deadly thrill that draws Zanas in as though she
was created solely to become part of it.
Zanas's journey is one of excitement and love, of what is possible with a courageous heart and a strong mind.
What the world needs is more romance! The thing thatbothers me about
genre romance is the same thing that makes genre romance soappealing.
Somehow everything in my life compares to food, but indulgeme, please.
You've got your standard genre romance which comes indifferent flavors:
historical, contemporary, fantasy, apocalyptic or dystopian,steampunk,
chick lit, etc., which are kind of like different flavors of popcorn.
And who doesn't love popcorn, whether it's kettle corn orbuttered or
toffee or caramel. It's all good, and any time's a nice timefor
popcorn. I certainly feel more intellectually full after reading a good
book then articles about celebs. Articles about celebs tend to give mea
headache. They are these ongoing stories with no climax, no
resolution,just one ongoing beginning with no end.
I've got to admit I'm one of those people who are suckered into
buying thebooks that these titan publishers push at you so hard you
can't get away fromthem. I went to an elementary school book fair and
bought a bunch ofmainstream stuff to support the school. Problem is,
with a lot ofliterary books which fancy themselves "high art", there are
theseengaging characters that I can really get into, and then something
really awfulhappens to them, things involving female circumcision,
starvation, and/or evenworse. Then the character and reader are
completely messed up from there,and I hope there some sort of change in
the end but really someone just ends updying or having a baby, or I
close the book wishing I was dead because the maincharacter is so very
unhappy. Then I have a gut bomb and wish thatinstead of eating that
fatty laden stuff I should have had some popcorninstead.
I haven't picked up a straight romance novel, one with the happily
ever afterending and the greatest challenge being the romantic tension
between thecharacters, in ages. I guess I'm afraid to because I'm
worried that I'llforget all about the story as soon as I close the
book. Romance is thisamazing genre which has been over-manufactured
like the food on the shelves atour neighborhood grocer. It is the
bestselling genre, but I want to makeit meaty. I like to think that's
my job now. Meaty, filling romancethat makes you feel like you've
learned something after you've closed the book,besides that your husband
wants you to shop more in the lingerie department andthe logistics of
how to make a baby. Somehow I need to incorporate thatinto a platform.
So why does the world really need romance with a little something
more? Iwent to a Halloween party in Vegas last weekend. Somehow,
ladiesunderwear has now become a very hip and now costume. Some people
werejust wearing a corset bra, panties, and some garters. Undies.
Yep,underwear. That was a costume. I mean, at least spray on some
bodypaint or something so I don't feel like an old school marm in my Mad
Hattresscostume with fishnets. For men, it seemed the popular costumes
wereemasculated cartoon characters such as Sponge Bob, Mario and Luigi,
HarryPotter, and whatever other pansy you can imagine.
I eavesdropped on a conversation between Mario and Luigi as they
checked out acouple of undie clad gals and they sounded eerily like an
episode from the 90'sshow.
Mario: Howare we gonna get in there? I got two words for you: Im-possible.
Luigi:Nothing is impossible, Mario. Improbable, Unlikely, but never
impossible.Anything is possible, Mario, you just gotta believe in it.
I
imagined what my fellow party goers woke up to the next morning, as
theyslipped on their Luigi costume and said, "Remember, trust the
fungus"as they waved their big white gloved hand goodbye. Or as they
put ontheir underwear costume, and did that walk of shame down a hotel
roomhallway. Where's the romance in that?
The world needs romance not just so we can indulge our fantasies of
charactersnamed Kate, Sal, Striker, Edward, Ash, Katniss, (if these
names sound familiaryou're reading the right books, wink) but so we can
put our reality of whatlove should consist of into check.
Life really should imitate art now, don't you think?
Juliet James, aka
Julie Streets, is a former starlet married to one of the biggest action stars
in history. He’s handsome, sexy, and her
best friend. There’s only one thing
keeping them from falling in love. Enter
a world of glamour and riches where all of the indulgences of heaven are there
for the taking, but the trappings of a marriage of convenience have made life a
living hell. A chance meeting prompts
Juliet to change her situation when she comes across a romantic interest she
just can’t stay away from.
"This doc covers everything, from maid service to
housekeepers to even just close friends.
He can't imagine exactly what this can cover as well," I lied.
"I mean, what transpires between you and I." Tiny droplets of sweat formed at my
hairline. "You and I work
together. We've formed a friendship. He'll think it pertains to whatever happens
or is said on set. The entire crew will
have to sign one as well if the pilot becomes a series."
Gavin placed the document on a teak side table. Lifting up my chin gently, he caressed my
cheek with his hand. "This doesn't
work for me, Juliet."
I stared off into the moonlit seascape, watching the waves
lap upon the shore. The ocean held as
many tears as were prepared to fall from my eyes. I closed them as I breathed deeply, listening
to the sound of the waves pounding, and the crickets chirping at the sight of
the moon. The nearness of him, combined
with the romantic setting, seemed to be a stage set for a joke, a parody of
forever unrequited love. I felt the
weight of his body upon mine, as his lips pressed against mine, opening them in
a passionate kiss that ignited my very soul from where his lips touched me in a
secret place that had been treated as an affliction for far too long.
"I have a suggestion of my own, that I want to run by
you." Slipping off the hammock, he
disappeared down the stairs, coming back up with one hand behind his back. "Juliet.
I know you are another man's wife, and under any other circumstances I
would have nothing to do with you. I can't stay away. I won't.
Unless you ask me to." He
waited as he searched my eyes. He bent
down on one knee and brought a box from behind his back. "Perhaps this is not as extraordinary as
the one you already own. If you don't
like it, I can find you a different one more suited to your taste. Juliet James, will you marry me?"
"Yes!" I blurted.
Then just as quickly, "No! I
mean... I have to ask Steven."
"Why?"
"I can't explain.
I'll try. When you live with
someone for so long, you owe them an explanation."
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Sitting on the Fence Between Plotting
and Pansting
Every once
in awhile the question arises in the writer's world: are you a plotter or a
panster? This question always brings up so many mixed feelings in me. You see,
I've often considered myself a pretty dyed-in-the-wool panster. My characters
have lives of their own, and they're very clear on their desire to not let me
interfere with that.
Oh, it's not
that I don't plot at all. I do. I start each piece with a clear vision of where
I want to go, and produce an outline of how to get there. Somehow, some way,
the characters always seem to have a way of interfering with my "best laid
plans" though. That's when I get a little blurry on the plotting/panster
concept. Where does one start and the other begin?
When I first
begin a project, I start out determined to not let characters get in the way of
my plans again. Oh the glory of what it must be like to be a true plotter.
Someone who can outline every detail and really stick to that. For me, my
outlines are a basic roadmap. I do demand that my characters obey the signs and
signals, and keep to the idea of the story… but when it comes to the nitty
gritty of the story, they're in control and they never let me forget that
either.
Is Either Plotting or Pansting Really
Important?
Obviously
plenty of writers do very well on both sides of the coin. It doesn't surprise
me to find, though, that many of the writers I talk to find themselves stuck
somewhere in the middle of the plotter/panster debate. I think there is a good reason
for that--both are pretty important.
You need a
roadmap. Simply letting go and following a character wherever that may lead
might be a whole lot of fun, but it's dangerous. You could end up meandering
for pages and pages, even an entire novel, without actually getting anywhere or
saying anything. A basic plot outline can be as simple as a sort of
"mission statement." A, this is what I want to say in this novel,
type of idea so that you never lose sight of what impact you want to make. Regardless
of whether it is a full-out point-by-point plot development, or just a
paragraph of intent, it will keep you grounded when your character wants to
stop and enjoy the scenery or go charging off into the sunset.
You need
emotion and involvement. If you plot, but never get a connection to your
characters and see what "they" see, neither will your readers.
Pansting is another word for being "in" the character and that's so
important. Even the most dedicated plotters have to make that connection if
they are going to reach a reader's emotional core.
The Un-Happy Medium
So why are
writers so concerned about what side they're on. I think, here too is just my
opinion, or perhaps just my reflection on my own feelings toward middle of the
roading it: we feel guilty sometimes that we're not more involved with one side
or the other. Or that we're doing something wrong. Maybe that's not right at
all though. Perhaps being squarely in the middle of the debate is just the
right place to be. It's the perfect place to implement both of the benefits of
story line creation. I think I like that concept best of all, and from now on
when I am asked whether I am a plotter or a panster I will proudly say I sit on
the fence!
About the Books
Tami Parrington's fantasy series begins with Hell's Own.
Aslightly twisted version of the battle between
good and evil that all comes together in the character of Alexander, the
discontented demon who finds his way to earth and joins up with an unlikely
pair of angels.
When a disillusioned demon breaks the bonds of
Hades and discovers the wonders of earth and its inhabitants, he becomes
mankind's only ally in the war between heaven and hell where the human soul is
the ultimate prize. Join author T. L. Parrington in this often humorous look at
the darker sides of the human spirituality experience as witnessed by two
humans each on their own path of enlightenment as they struggle with the
realities of hell on earth in the form of an unusual new friend.
Exerpt from Hell's Own
Alexander
dropped the fresh kill to the ground and staggered back. He shielded his face with
a trembling arm as the corridor spun at a dizzying speed before his eyes. He
looked down and focused on the raw meat his stomach yearned for and licked his
victim’s blood from his lips.
What was
that? Alex drew in a deep breath of the night air as he tried to understand the
turmoil in his mind. He looked up at the old man poised at the end of the
cavern whose thoughts were etched on his aged face—knowing he should run,
fearing he couldn’t run fast enough.
Alex studied
him. Beyond the flashes of fear that radiated from the ancient eyes, beyond the
drops of water that hovered at the rims, beyond the glassy exterior there was
more. More than Alex had ever seen before.
Never had he
tasted anything quite like the flesh that lay at his feet, and the difference
was what radiated from the eyes of the horrified man who feared a similar fate.
A soul, the true living part of a human whose physical body would decay.
Creatures like himself had no use for a separate soul. Created, not born, their
bodies never gave up on their life, unless terminated by an outside force, and
only when completely devoured. Even the demons born in hell, possessing both
spirit and soul, missed something, Alex tried to place it, but couldn’t.
He’d tasted
the souls of hell. There was no comparison. Alex’s eyes narrowed as he kicked
the mortal being at his feet, it would be no less dead if he left him there,
than if he swallowed every last morsel.
Then he
thought of the excruciating screams as the souls of the damned human creatures
were flung into the pit of agony. He remembered the faces of the centrias flung
into the pit beside him in his escape. No screams, no agony, just resolve to an
eternity of a void filled with tortured nightmares. It was the soul that lived
forever, but some lived more fully than others.
It was that
soul that was coveted beyond all else in the greatest depths of Hades. A scowl
formed on Alex’s mouth as he gnawed on his lip. The human soul that caused the
Great War—the eternal battle. What was so special about the human soul? He
kicked the lifeless body again.
He turned
his attention back to the unsteady vagrant. “Go about your business, old man. I
have no use for you.”
The old man
fled on buckled legs as fast as they would carry him into the night, and
disappeared around a distant corner. Alex crouched slowly next to the limp form
on the ground. He tasted again the delectable flesh, and relished the
tantalizing glimpses of the remnants of its soul.
A life
flooded his mind. Unknown people, places, ideas, sped past his mind’s eye, and
lodged there. Memories. What a sweet concept. To remember even after death a
life that no longer existed.
Alexander
savored the last of the meat and pondered the remaining skins as he picked a
final bone clean. He poked at the lifeless cloth. The upper adornment was soft.
Alex slid it over his head, and down over his chest, folding his wings to form
to his back, he wiggled in the tight cloth, positioning himself. The
constricting material was annoying, and his wings pushed against it pining for freedom.
With a
graceful swipe, Alexander grabbed the bottom layer of skin, and held it up to
the faint light from the outside of the cavern. It was supple—soft, like the
fine tanned hide of the arideans whose tender hides created the royal robes of
Satan. Alexander ran a hand down the supple, leathery skin that shone like a
polished black diamond in the dim glow.
He lifted a
leg, and stretched the material over his strong, hard calf, and thigh, then
stepped into it with the next. Alexander danced about as he fastened the
material at his waist as it had been on his victim. It was a strange
contraption, binding, and chafing, and even more constricting to his
irrepressible qualities than the top cover was to his wings.
With a final
disgusted glance, Alex eyed the heavy bindings that had covered his victim’s
feet. He touched one with a long, slender toe, and it rocked over onto its
bottom. Alex slid his foot into the opening. It was horribly painful. He
scrunched his face and demanded his body accept the pain as he stood on the
encased foot and shoved his other foot into the second cover.
Alexander
stood straight, and squared his shoulders with his head held high. He took a
step, and squirmed about trying to recover his delicate parts that squished
against the material when he moved, as he attempted to balance on one aching
foot.
He grabbed
hold of the waist of the bottom skin and tugged. A wince of pain accompanied
the thrust of the material against his groin. No amount of shimmying could put
himself in an acceptable place in the binding skins. No wonder most humans he
saw were so stiff, and had such grim expressions.
Alexander
steeled himself to the unpleasant restriction.
He strode
out of the corridor onto the straight path of stone and looked about. Humans
traveled in packs along the sides of the great caves without a glance in his
direction other than an occasional look by lovely visions of beauty that would
put even Serena to shame, to admire his appearance.
Alexander
turned and caught his image in the reflective stone of the cave behind him. It
started him. Even he wouldn’t recognize the figure staring back at him. It was
foreign, but not altogether unpleasant.
His large
black eyes stared into the shimmering stone and admired the beast looking back.
His long, raven black hair flowed down over the taunt black material covering
his broad well-muscled chest and shoulders. He looked backwards quickly, then
relaxed when he saw the shift of his wing under the material. He returned his
gaze to the clear reflective stone. It was strange not to see his wings behind
him.
His
fire-browned arms, long and sinewy, pulsed with the fresh blood of his latest
meal. The tight lower skins showed his muscular limbs to almost naked
perfection while warming him enough to be comfortable in the brisk night air.
“Hey
handsome. Looking for a date?”
Alexander
whipped around to see a lovely creature in much less restrictive skins smiling
at him with gleaming white teeth. She had hair dark as the night that curled in
wild abandon around a face that was painted with streaks of color. Her breasts
burst forth in a glorious attempt to be free of the skin that tried in vein to
cover them. A short sparkly skin covered her hips, and little else as long,
fine legs exposed tantalizingly to the cold air, standing precariously atop
almost non-existent foot coverings with dagger-like heels, stirred his
captivated loins into a fiery rage at their confinement.
“Come on,
big fella, I’ll let you buy me a drink,” she said in a voice that was warm, and
inviting. Alexander followed as she pulled his arm toward a cave lit up with
brilliant lights above its entrance.
Alexander
sat on the small round perch next to his lovely temptress as she waved at a
human rushing about behind a long wooden table.
His eyes
widened in amazement at the spectacle as fluids poured from bottles and sloshed
over the glasses, spilling onto the wood with careless abandon. He took an
offered glass from the woman beside him and raised it to his lips. The aroma
seared his nostrils and made his eyes water.
Alexander
blinked back the tears and pulled the glass away from his lips. He stared into
the golden liquid inside. What kind of strange water was this?
“What’s the
matter, son? Not to your liking?” The gravelly voiced bartender said, looking
at Alex.
Alex shook
his head, and put the glass down on the bar.
“Huh. What’s
the matter with you, boy? That’s the devil’s own saliva.” A man next in the
chair next to Alex tossed back a generous amount of the hot liquid into his
mouth and swallowed with a grimace, then smiled.
Alex looked
at the glass again, then picked it up. The devil’s own saliva? He’d
never seen such a thing. He put the glass to his mouth and let the water that
tasted like the flames of Hades themselves slide down his throat in a burning
path to his stomach where it lit his body on fire.
The
devil’s own? Nuh uh.
This was nothing like anything he’d ever tasted, and he knew the devil
personally. It did have a certain quality though. More like the hell-fire his
constantly cold body yearned for. A pleased smile spread on Alex’s lips. He
hadn’t been that warm since he left home.
He saw the
reflective glass behind the long wood table warp. Alex closed his eyes. The
firewater had a dizzying affect on his mind. He was imagining things. He opened
one eye and looked again at the shiny surface on the wall of the cave. The
woman next to him laughed and it echoed in his brain like a zimitar’s shriek.
The
reflection warped again. This time he was sure it wasn’t his mind playing
tricks. They were here. They’d come for him already. He frowned. It wasn’t time
for the next bell yet. He looked over his shoulder. A multitude of human faces
swam in his vision. Laughing. Slapping each other. Jostling around to a
pounding vibration from a machine by the far side of the room. Nothing to fear.
Alexander
slid off the perch.
“Hey, buddy,
if you’re gonna be sick, the john’s over there,” the bartender shouted at
Alexander’s weaving back.
Alexander
winced and shifted from one painful foot to the other, and then lunged in the
direction of the designated place.
His human
companion laughed as the bartender shouted over the crowd in a voice that faded
in Alex’s throbbing head as he charged for the door. “Looks like your customer
can’t hold his liquor, Lou.”
The woman
smiled, and nodded as she watched Alex fling himself through the bathroom door.
“It’s okay, Donny, makes my job easier.”
The laughter
behind him faded as Alex slammed the door behind him, and slid back against its
hard surface. His eyes scanned the room. “Show yourself!” he demanded.
A sinister
laugh ripped through the air like a knife. A ripple in the wall of the tiny
room grew into a ghoulish shape as a borh stepped out of the molded form that
pooled from the wall.
“You’re in
trouble, Alexander.” The borh eyed him with caution, keeping a respectable
distance from the centria’s grasp.
Alex braced
himself against the wall to hide any weakness the effects of the strange water
had on his abilities. He leaned back and tried to appear nonchalant at the
visit from below.
“The master
sent me to tell you he’d give you one more chance to come home, Alexander. Just
one. Come home now before the second bell.”
“Or what?”
Alex’s curiosity was piqued now. What exactly did the master plan to send up
against him? He forced himself to hold back the laughter at the thought of any
besides ones like him having any affect, certainly not a lowly borh. “Will you
take me home, borh?”
The
creature’s eyes darted about for a means of escape should the centria charge
him. “No, no,” he assured Alex with his spindly arms outstretched. “You know I
have nothing against your kind.”
How generous
of him, Alex thought with a sneer. “Or else what then?”
“Come home
now, Alexander. Before the next bell.” The borh didn’t give him a chance to ask
anymore. He jumped back into the wall and disappeared with a warping snap.
Alexander
relaxed against the door and closed his eyes to relieve the pounding in his
head. The next bell was two days away. He stood up, and opened the door to peer
out into the noisy cave, and then shut it again and leaned back with his eyes
closed once more.
This place
was confusing, uncomfortable, and cold, he could do worse than return home and
take his punishment like the powerful demon he was. What was the worse that
Satan could do? An image of the agonizing pit filled his mind with a sea of
tortured bodies reaching out for relief. Yeah, there was that. Next
time, he might not make it out alive. In fact, he was sure he wouldn’t. He just
had to make sure there wouldn’t be a next time.
Alexander
staggered out of the john and stumbled to the door of the cave. Bodies thrust
against him, and laughed as they careened about in crowded revelry. He made it
to the opening, and pushed the doors wide to suck fresh air into his lungs.
“Hey,
asshole! Come back here and pay for these drinks!” the bartender shouted. The
woman jumped down from her seat and rushed to his side.
“You’re not
running out on me now, are you? I thought we had a date.” Lou ran after him as
Alex rushed into the night. She grabbed his arm, “hey, leave if you want to,
but you gotta pay for the drinks, and my time.”
Alexander
spun around, his eyes ablaze, his mind on fire, and his teeth barred. Lou
backed away with a horrified look and gasped as he grabbed her waist and pulled
her to him. Passing humans shrieked with terror and he flung around in defense.
He backed away holding the captive woman in one mighty arm. She squirmed and
kicked at his shins as he looked down on her luscious, terrified form.
“Maybe we
can take it out in trade,” he said as the top skin slithered up to bare his
chest and free his pinned wings. He covered her mouth with his to block the
scream of terror as he lifted her into the cold, dark air and left the earth
and its screaming inhabitants behind.
***
Lou screamed
at the top of her lungs as she backed across the rooftop on her heels and
palms, belly up, keeping her eyes on the john she’d picked up who’d turned into
a monster and carried her over the city.
Alex didn’t
move a muscle. He just stood where he’d landed and watched as the horrified
female creature moved away as if she could go anywhere useful to get away. He
looked over his shoulder at the twenty-story drop. Then back at the woman
spider crawling backwards.
He chuckled
at the tremble of her lip when her back hit a protective ledge that rimmed the
building’s edge.
He waited
some more. He expected her to beg. She didn’t. He admired that. Not enough to
let her go, but it was nice anyway.
Lou inched
her way up the retaining wall on her back. The beast was watching. She rolled
her eyes. Why in God’s name did every interesting man she’d ever met turn out
to be some sort of freak? If it weren’t for the huge bat-like wings, and teeth
that would make Dracula jealous, this guy was a looker in his black leather pants
that hugged his muscular frame and left little to the imagination. His bare
chest rippled with muscles, and glistened in the moonlight. Damn the luck. But
he was a man, right? She took a deep breath, and straightened her skirt that
rode up her hips. “I was just kidding about the bar tab, handsome.”
Alexander’s
brow raised as he looked about the ledge, then realized she was talking about
him. He took a few steps towards her, and saw her shoulders tense. She was a
good actress. He watched as she shook her head and her hair spilled over her
shoulders in a dark cascade of waving ripples. He reached out and touched the
soft curls.
“There’s no
reason we can’t be friends? Is there?” she asked.
None that he
could think of at the moment. He flung off the remainder of his restrictive
clothing.
Whoa, now
that was impressive. Lou’s eyes widened at the powerful sight before her.
Alexander’s
hands slid up her sides and pushed the top off the ample bosom that had spent
the night straining at the material in an enticing effort to escape. They
bounced into full view and seemed to rejoice in the freedom. He bent to take
them into his mouth when a trembling, but firm hand touched his chin and raised
his head to look into the deep green eyes above him. The fear was receding in them,
and a spark of mischief replaced the ebbing fear.
“You could
use some help here anyway? Am I right?” Lou arched as the demon’s icy tongue
slid down her throat in response. He hesitated at the base of her throat and
her heart skipped a beat as she felt him tense, as if overriding a deeper
desire. The trail of his hungry mouth left a burning sensation on her skin that
was a mix of pain, and exotic thrill.
With a
gentle nudge she urged him onward. She shivered as his lips surrounded her
hardened nipples and moaned when his teeth raked at the tender flesh. A scream
leapt from her as his teeth sunk into the flesh. “Hey!” Lou fought to pull away
from his grip.
His hands
gripped her waist and held her firm. She squealed and twisted to no avail. Her
heart hammered against her ribs and her mind swam in drained fatigue,
excruciating pain, and delirious ecstasy. She felt him release her waist with
one mighty hand, and rip away the material of her skirt. Her mind demanded she
stop him, but her body was useless to her commands.
Alexander
pulled away from her grip and dove into her breast, they were lush, and the
flesh was oh so sweet. He licked the salty skin, and drew in the blood from the
open wound. It tantalized his taste buds. As he trailed down the soft skin to her
tender belly, he felt the pulse of the blood rushing through her veins.
His hands
gripped her tighter and she squealed and wrapped a long leg around his waist,
molding to his form.
A dizzying
feeling of height as she was swept into the air robbed Lou of what was left of
her senses. Just when she thought she would pass out from fear, and loss of
blood, she felt him plunge into her. Her body shivered at the hard, shaft that
split her with a rending slice like a dagger made of ice. Her eyes rolled back
in her head and she went limp in his hands. She forced herself to look back at
the ground, and her screams tore into the air until they were nothing more than
whimpers as he thrust into her, miles above the earth, filling her, and
destroying her.
Her eyes fluttered
open when she felt the steel of the building beneath her once again. She lay
motionless as Alexander worked his way down with burning kisses from icy hot
lips until he got to the tender divide of her feminine valley. His tongue
darted into the fleshy folds of moist flesh, and she felt a surge of excitement
sweep through her as her back arched while his tongue slithered like a snake,
weaving in and out, lapping at the heated tissue. Rage, and horror mingled with
pleasure, and lust in her mind as she grabbed his head while he thrust his
tongue deeper into her.
The human’s
flesh was so warm and moist. Alexander lavished in the wet inner sanctum, and
lapped furiously at the combined musky female scent, torn skin and blood, and
his own juices combined in the glorious mixture of sexual orgasm as she moaned
in raspy whispers and wrapped her fingers in his lush black hair to hold him
like an impetuous stallion that could not be controlled.
With a roar
that split the crisp night air, Alex tore away from her grip, and rose up on
his knees, wings spread wide, muscles throbbing once more, his pulse racing,
and his brain on fire. Nothing could stop him now. Her body shuddered and
twitched beneath him.
Lou gasped
for air as she opened her eyes and took in the mighty figure of a beast above
her. As monsters go, he wasn’t so bad. As lovers went he was fucking fantastic.
She ran a hand up his rippling belly, then down to the rock hard shaft. She
lifted her hips, begging him to continue.
Alexander
looked down on the woman’s lusting figure as she squirmed beneath him in a fit
of crazed desire. He took her writhing hips in his hands and lifted them to
him, and dove with an energetic propulsion that rocked the rooftop as he rammed
himself deeper, and deeper into her exotic flesh. With a final thrust, he
exploded in passionate energy that left her shuddering under him.
As he lay on
her, savoring the feeling of quenched desire, she ran her hands through his
hair.
“See, I can
help you.”
Alexander
nodded. Yes, she could. He licked her musky skin, and took her flesh into his
hungry mouth.
Lou opened
her eyes wide and looked down for the first time at her ravaged body.
Alexander
paid no mind to the horrified shriek that accompanied her glance, and his bite
as he tore into the feast beneath him.
Help on this
plain? Yeah, he could use some. He’d have to find it somewhere.
Watch for
Book Two in the Demon Series "Damned if You Do" coming in 2012 in the
fall.
Bio:
A long-time novelist and freelance
writer, T. L. Parrington (Tami Parrington) enjoys the simple pleasures of
working in the garden, swimming at the health club and playing with her dog
when she's not pounding away at the keyboard. As a novelist she has several
romance, women's fiction and fantasy books available.
Readers can find out more about Tami
Parrington's work at her Amazon Page amazon.com/author/tlparrington or her
website: http://www.tamiparrington.com
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