EPISODES: 2. CHAPTER ONE ♠ Kobi dressed for dinner with a trepidation that worried her. It was Naeto and she enjoyed being with him. She liked him. There was even an unconscious attraction but… but there were no deep feelings. … Continue reading
JETH always believed that when he was ready for love and for marriage, he would feel a certain kind of quickening in his spirit. A foreknowledge elucidated by a possible growing feeling of an emptiness that hadn’t been there before and that required filling. It would be nothing impulsive, nothing unanticipated and definitely, nothing sudden. It would instead be a slow, steady and meditatively thought out feeling and he would find himself prepared, in every way, to take whatever steps were demanded of him.
He had thought like this most of his adult life. Well, not quite most of it. But long enough that he couldn’t recall never thinking that way.
But he was not thinking love… or marriage, when he roused from his bed that morning. They still were not conceived in his thoughts when as he knelt for his morning devotion, his heart quickened with these words: ‘trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.’
Jeth pondered why, when those words from the book of Proverbs were not part of his morning inspirational word, would skip into his heart and persist there. He had his bath, his morning cup of ginger tea and still, the words lingered and repeated themselves again and again in his heart.
Unable to stop himself from doing so, he mulled over them as he drove to church for the nine-thirty a.m. service. But once inside the church, and service opened with songs of praise and worship, he cast off the ponderings, buried the words, and immersed himself in worship.
SHE had lost another job.
This should not keep happening to her, not with a name like Prudence. Prue sighed, tucked out the limp pillow from underneath her bum and stared about the only room of her one bedroom apartment before she tossed the pillow to the other end of the bed.
She called it her bare-necessities room. It had a necessary mattress on the floor, by a window that had a necessary chiffon drape over it. There was a necessary vinyl flooring sheet over the cement floor that had more holes than a battered highway. Then two necessary plastic chairs—for when she had visitors and didn’t want them sitting on the bed. Necessary clothes, necessary shoes and a necessary kitchen unit further narrowing the corridor that led to an even narrower veranda.
The rent on that one room was due too.
How was she going to manage another six months rent on her severance pay? She picked her cell-phone and tried her aunt’s line again. It was still unavailable.
THE jarring noise punctured my eardrums, pierced into my subconscious and destroyed my lavish sleep and picturesque dream.
Damn! I hated alarm clocks.
I flung out my hand and slapped quiet the one blaring on my bedside table. Then muttered a curse against it—damned inopportune object!
I stayed motionless. Eyes closed. Breathing spaced. Waiting for sleep to return.
It did not.
I mumbled another curse. Waking up ritual was done. So I flung aside the old curtain that served, and very well too, as blanket and hurled my legs down the side of the bed-frame. I yawned, scratched my face, rubbed my eyes and hauled my body up to my feet.
I hated mornings. Even more than I hated alarm clocks. It topped the list of my one trillion and one most hated things in the world. Mornings—Menace. Same definition.
I shuffled into the bathroom. It was a tiny room I had carved out of my bedroom because I hated the trouble of having to walk down the hall just to have a pee, do the major, or do my constant battles with water.
Yeah, that last statement should tell you. Bathing made it into the one trillion and one most hated things in the world list. And it came top twenty. Used to be among the top ten but after dating my last boyfriend—a major asshole—other things took up its place and it went down the list. Might still go down, for I just started dating again and he’s looking like he’d beat Dipo on the asshole pecking order.
Probably should dump him.
HE STUMBLED OUT OF DEATH.
The lurch out of his vampiric coma was a battle with death but Colin did not feel like a victor when his eyes batted open and peered into the pitch darkness. He groaned. A deep, depressing snarl in his throat and blinked. A shadow of dim light rose over the darkness and his vision gained recognition.
He was in her living room. Recollection came with full force.
She was a vampire. She had bitten him. She had drank his blood. Had drained him.
And left him for dead.
Colin snarled out another groan. It trembled with fury as he rolled off his back and staggered to his feet. He wavered, struggled to remain on his feet and not keel over again.
He was hungry. Starved. Thirsty.
The yen for liquid, and feeding, burned and dried his throat. He battled with it. Wrestled not to be overcome as he raised his hand, trembling and unsteady, to his collarbone. The holes were there. Thin holes were her fangs had sunk—where she had drained him from. He opened his mouth to growl out another groan and then felt it—
The rip into his flesh. The strain and wrench of his skin. The pull as if he was being split—into multiple parts.
Colin howled and staggered forward. Lurching into a sofa and clutching on to it.
Heat burned his flesh. And then cold—biting, vicious cold sponged over it and freezing as it slithered and congealed. But not just his skin—his blood thickened, his bones reinforced, his senses surged and vibrated with gripping power. His entire being shifted—into something else. Something new.
Pain, acute and stinging, tore through him as he felt his disintegration and his regeneration happen all at once. Colin howled and groaned, repeatedly and with varied intensity. He struggled with the disintegration, repudiated to the regeneration and surrendered, when he could no longer fight, to the newness that was him.
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MOYO TRAMPED DOWN the dusty sidewalk of the two-lane highway. The evening sky was cool but blaring honks from sweeping past cars and motorcycles, added to the loud noises from people milling the surrounding streets and in nearby houses, made the atmosphere feel hot—and exhausting.
She was tired.
Weary would be a better word, she thought absently, raising a hand to rub the back of her neck. Her feet ached inside the black flat ballet-like pumps. She wished she could slip them out and just massage them. Better than that, she wished she could flag down a bike, climb on top and have herself driven home like royalty.
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