Midnight Dance




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.

Continue reading


Body on my Doorstep



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.

Continue reading

Lusty Thirst

Lusty Thirst CVR


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.


**LUSTY THIRST. Coming August 2 on Okadabooks. Don’t Miss It!!!**

**Meanwhile, if you are on the search for us. Jam us on Life and Spices.com. We are reading stories like never before. Don’t be left out!**

CoMing SoOn

too little,too late 3

Sometimes fear slays courage. Sometimes doubt drowns instinct. Sometimes when courage and instinct finally trounce, it is too LATE.

Too Little, Too LATE… coming 9 June, 2015.


BE HERE for our next Blovel.


Too Little, Too LATE CS

The new weekend thriller

I did promise that the new weekend thriller would begin today, unfortunately I must apologize because the new series is not yet ready for posting.

Who Killed Dana Bala? will take off next week Friday, 20 June.

I invite you all to please join me then and once again apologize for failing to keep my promise this weekend.

Make sure you click on my email icon and put in your email address so you can get instant alerts once new posts are made.

Watch out for Who Killed Dana Bala? Image next weekend.

Thank you.

a new love story


In the commercial city of Lagos where the population is estimated at over 21 million people, a little boy has only one wish…

A father has only one desire…

A teacher has only one passion…


A Little boy – who is absolutely bright, enchantingly adorable and enthusiastically smart… and he has only one wish….

Daddy, do you think you’ll marry again?… it will be nice to have a mummy.”

A Hero a widower with only one desire…

“My only desire now is to properly bring up the kids Elo left in my care.”

A Heroinea teacher with just one passion…

“I’ve got only one passion and that is to teach little children and help them grow.”

Continue reading

This April…



The rivals…

Alexandra Iguodaro – 33. Pretty, firm-bodied eyes-on-the-ball ‘type A’ advertising boss-lady.

Reginald Akin-Thomas – 36. Ruggedly handsome, cynical, workaholic advertising mogul.

Alex: Men like the tall, dark and too-good-looking-for-his-own-good Reginald Akin-Thomas set her teeth on edge. Christ, the man had enough arrogance for ten men.

Regie: Tough-skinned career-focused-straight-to-the-top-of-the-ladder workaholic women like Ms Alexandra rattled his teeth. They were like armadillo lizards – hard, thorny and doggedly defensive.

Continue reading