_____________
Feeding
the Vampire
By Jeffe
Kennedy
Publisher: Ellora's
Cave
Date
Published: August 3, 2011
Through
good luck and healthy cowardice, Misty has survived the earthquakes that have
torn the world apart, but has no skills to speak of. Or so she thinks. She does
have blood, and someone must feed the vampire who has offered his protection
and strength in exchange for sustenance. Feeding Ivan is a priority, and Misty
finally serves a purpose. But when she awakens tied to his bed, an unwilling
gift to Ivan from the townspeople, she discovers he has hungers other than
blood. Hungers he expects her to satisfy in the most carnal manner. Under his
seductive persuasion Misty discovers she has the power to sustain Ivan in all
ways, while experiencing unspeakable pleasure herself.
Feeding
the Vampire
Excerpt
I was
compelled to feed him. I had no choice, really.
Earl
cleared his throat. “Thank you.” Our town administrator looked around for
agreement, but they weren’t meeting his eyes either. Like kids ducking the
teacher’s gaze. “Thank you, Misty. We all appreciate your…” He trailed off
uncomfortably.
Sacrifice?
Surely no one wanted to hear that word aloud. Martyr to the cause? No, not much better.
Earl
shuffled the papers in his lap. Waiting for me to get to it, I supposed. Well,
he had just said that feeding Ivan ought to be the first order of business. We
couldn’t very well make plans for our community while the guy in charge of our
defenses wilted before our eyes, especially since we needed him alert and
focused. Me? I was pretty damn expendable. I hadn’t brought much to the table
so far, except my survival, which really was accidental. Right place at the
right time. Turns out stolid New England was just the right place to be for the
particular form this apocalypse took. Granite bedrock and all that.
My
boring hometown was a safe haven and everyone wanted in on our resources. The
people turning up every day were let in or turned away depending on what they
offered. I counted my lucky stars I’d been grandfathered in simply because my
neighbors didn’t have the heart to kick me out. Excellent keyboarding skills
and a customer-friendly personality didn’t count for much in this economy.
Especially without, um, customers or working keyboards.
I
couldn’t afford to be a useless mouth to feed. Their hearts would harden—they
already had. Tonight was pivotal. We’d acquired a vampire of our own for
defense. Everyone felt better about our future—if we could keep him happy. At
least I knew how to make blood. You could say I was a natural. And yet, the
certainty that had propelled me to my feet seemed to be bleeding away,
frightened off by Ivan’s fixed intensity and everyone else’s obvious relief.
They waited, restless, for me to just get on with it. Uncomfortable silence.
Hi, I’m
Misty and I’m a Fool. I haven’t done anything really unwise in twenty-seven
days. Kind of a record for me really. Apparently I was due.
The
vampire just stared at me.
I set
my yellow pad on the chair and made myself walk across the circle to where he
sat in the tacky folding metal chair. My sandals slapped lightly on the tiles,
making tinny echoes. Ivan’s roving gaze sent tremors of anticipation up my
thighs.
A few
murmured conversations resumed. They probably didn’t like the creepy silence
any more than I did. I appreciated their polite attempt not to gawk. I’d never
seen a vampire feed—probably none of them had either. I stopped in front of
Ivan. He leaned back, long legs sprawled out in careless indolence. He tilted
his head at my hesitation and held out his hands as if to help me down from a
carriage.
“Perhaps
we should step out of the room?” I tried.
“I
haven’t the strength to stand.” His grave eyes watched me with avid intent.
If I
ran, he would definitely find the strength to hunt me down. After all, he’d
walked into this room. Heck, he’d arrived at the bridge leading to our sleepy
town only last night, offering his protection in return for our shelter and
sustenance. He had to have gotten there somehow.
He
wrapped his long fingers around my wrists, cuffing them with bands of steel.
Exerting steady pressure, he drew me closer, parting his lips. White fangs
gleamed with fluorescent highlights. My heart thumped in panic, hot fear
filling me.
“Will
it hurt?” My voice sounded thready, weak.
Hunger
flared in his eyes at the question. “It always does.”
Ivan
snapped me against his hard body. The sharp movement splintered any second
thoughts. He pulled me astraddle his lap. My cheap cotton dress hiked up alarmingly.
The chafe of his dark denim jeans sent tremors up my fully exposed thighs.
Shame and terror flashed through me.
Then
all thought and emotion burst in flame, immolating me through the fierce
violence of his teeth sinking into my throat. The agony of the deep puncture,
fear feeding pain, fired through my blood. I struggled like a wild thing,
without thought. Animal instinct screamed at me to flee, to escape by any means
possible.
The
vampire held me trapped. There was no escape for me, the mouse flailing under
the cat’s paw.
My
will, never my strong point, snapped. The fight ebbed away with the tide of my
blood. The steady drop of pressure left me enervated, without resistance.
Darkness filled my brain, prickled with sparking stars. I wilted, becoming a
bit of detritus washed upon the shore of Ivan’s body.
Pain
filled my veins, pumped through my heart. It replaced my blood, spiraling
through my body from the insistent penetration of Ivan’s teeth in my throat.
Helpless against the crashing waves, I relinquished my last hold on
consciousness and sank into the hot, tarry sea of oblivion.
___________
Sapphire
By
Jeffe Kennedy
Publisher: Carina
Press
Date
Published: October 24, 2011
A
successful executive, M. Taylor Hamilton is on track with her ten-year plan.
Too bad her personal life consists of hitting the gym and grocery shopping.
Enter the seductive Adam Kirliss. They may have a working relationship, but
everything changes at an office party when he handcuffs her to the rail of a
yacht. Taylor writes the adventure off as too much champagne, but when Adam
challenges her to a date, she agrees to meet up with him. And follow his rules.
They share a night of exquisite intimacy, brimming with both pain and pleasure.
But afterwards, fearful of losing her heart, Taylor pulls back emotionally.
Adam is determined to prove that she longs for the loss of control he can give
her – and the passionate release it provides. How can he make her see that he
wants her, and not just her body?
Excerpt
Kirliss
captured her other wrist and held them close in front of her, his warm fingers
massaging her skin, while he studied her face. The boat surged over a wave,
disturbing her balance. Kirliss’s unusual eyes caught the light, boring into
her.
“This
is silly,” she tried.
“Do you
want me to make you stay?”
“What?”
Taylor choked. She couldn’t let him treat her this way. “No! You’ll do no
such—”
She
lost her breath entirely when he pressed up against her. Thinking he was trying
to embrace her, she pulled away and found herself backed against the brass
railing.
By the
time she gathered her flustered thoughts, her wrists were handcuffed to the
rail behind her. Mortified, a bit afraid and—worse—suddenly and wildly aroused…
________________
Petals
and Thorns
RWI
More Than Magic Finalist
Genre:
BDSM Fantasy
In
exchange for her father’s life, Amarantha agrees to marry the dreadful Beast
and be his wife for seven days. Though the Beast cannot take Amarantha’s
virginity unless she begs him to, he can and does take her in every other way.
From the moment they are alone together, the Beast relentlessly strips
Amarantha of all her resistance.
If
Amarantha can resist her cloaked and terrifying husband, she gains his entire
fortune and will be allowed to return to her family and a normal life. But the
Beast seduces her at every turn, exposing, binding, tormenting, and pleasuring
Amarantha until she no longer knows her own deepest desires. Increasingly
desperate to break the curse that chains his humanity, the Beast drives
Amarantha past every boundary. But her desire for a normal life may jeopardize
the love that will save them both.
Publisher's
Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and
situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play, BDSM theme and
elements, dubious consent.
Excerpt
Petals and Thorns
The
wedding ceremony took place deep in the woods.
The
chapel looked innocent in its white prettiness, as if a normal wedding took
place there instead of this monstrous farce.
At
first Amarantha had wept. When her father had arrived home on the magnificent
stallion, his arms overflowing with luscious red roses and saddlebags full of
gold coins, and told the wild tale of the Beast who wanted Amarantha and only
her, she’d been at first astonished, then enraged. She’d thought of running
away, but her father and sisters had talked Amarantha around. The Beast had
promised wealth to restore her father’s fortunes and more. They assured her
that the Beast wouldn’t kill her.
“He saw
your portrait and finds you beautiful,” her father crooned. “It will be a
marriage in name only. You need not lie with him” — he snickered — “if the
creature is even able to perform as a man. Likely he is too deformed and wants
only a pretty wife to look upon.
“Remember”
— the merchant took his youngest daughter’s slender hands in his as they
stepped down from the carriage — “if the marriage is not consummated within one
week, then he has agreed to have it annulled and to settle upon you half of his
fortune! All you must do is retain your chastity for one measly week, and any
ninny can keep her legs closed that long. Remember it every day, and the week
will fly by. Soon you’ll be at home again with us, our fortunes forever
secured.”
“He
only has to take her by force,” Anastasia scoffed.
“No,” a
deep voice rumbled behind them. They started like finches when a hawk flies
over. No one had heard the Beast arrive.
He
stood back, tall and broad shouldered as her father had said, watching from the
depths of his cloak. The winter wind caught the black folds, whipping them
tight against his massive body, but never stirred around his face. Amarantha
couldn’t make out his features, though she thought perhaps she caught the gleam
of a white tooth. And was that the shadow of a muzzle?
She
shuddered, looking away quickly.
“No,
Amarantha,” the Beast said, “I will never take you by force. I will only take
you when you ask me to. That one choice, at least, will always be yours.”
Amarantha
stirred uneasily inside the confines of her corset. Something about his words
seemed…unwholesome somehow.
Angelica
laughed brightly and clapped her jeweled fingers together in a graceful
flutter. “Then we are saved! For, Sir Beast, though we cannot see you clearly,
we understand that you are so hideous that no woman would willingly have you.
Perhaps your beastly exterior reflects a similarly feral and corrupt heart?”
She waved a languid hand at Amarantha. “Else why resort to blackmail to obtain
a bride?”
“Indeed”
— the voice sank into a near growl — “sister of my bride. You are undoubtedly
correct. But since blackmail has, in fact, won me a bride, I’m anxious to take
possession of her. Shall we?”
Amarantha
gasped and stepped back when the Beast moved toward her, dark and sinuous. But
he only offered her his arm to escort her into the chapel. She took a deep
breath, as deep as her tight corset allowed.
After
the short ceremony, Amarantha kissed her father and sisters good-bye. She
couldn’t seem to hear what they were saying to her, only that she had promised
to obey this man. This monster.
“Do you
take this man, Sir Beast… Do you promise to love, honor, and obey?” the
chaplain had asked.
The
word seemed to reverberate in her skull. Obey. Chased by the image of how his
eyes had glowed at her sparking amber from the depths of his hood. Love and
honor seemed to pale before the other word. Amarantha possessed enough
cleverness to avoid shaming him, and she could pretend to love him. Obedience
might not be so simple. She almost felt his sigh of satisfaction at her
promise, as if something that had pained him suddenly eased.
Amarantha
wished she could feel the same.
In his
carriage, they rode facing each other, though Amarantha gazed steadfastly out
the window as the forest deepened and thickened. The trees grew more gnarled,
the roots thrusting up from the soil only to twist away again, diving into the
moist ferns covering the soil. Still, it was easier to keep her eyes on the
strange landscape than look at her husband’s shrouded form and wonder what horrors
it might contain.
“Am I
ever to see you?” she asked.
“Do you
wish to?”
Amarantha
glanced at his black silhouette. Looked away again.
“It
occurs to me it might be easier to see you and” — get it over with — “learn to
become accustomed to you.”
“Consider
that I might be so frightening to you that you would be unable to bear coming
near me again.”
Amarantha
trembled.
“No” —
the Beast chuckled darkly — “these things are best done in stages. I intend to
win you over, lovely Amarantha.”
“I
don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Because
you are innocent,” the Beast said, his voice nearly a growl. “And you have not
discovered how I can make you feel.”
“I
have. You make me feel fear. And revulsion.” She looked out the window.
“Despair, perhaps.”
“None
of those are real, Amarantha.”
She
forced herself to look at him. “I must tell you, I don’t see how I can ever be
your wife in truth. I cannot imagine asking you to — ”
“To
take your maidenhead? To rend you with my cock so that you scream in agonized
pleasure?”
The
shock drained Amarantha’s cheeks of color. Even as the image somehow stirred
her.
“Sir
Beast, you cannot say such things to me.”
“It
seems, my bride, that we must stretch your imagination as well. The only thing
I may not do is take you by force. Everything else is open to me.” He settled
back in a very masculine satisfaction. “If you intend to keep the bargain that
saved your father’s life, that is.”
Amarantha
bit her lip. Her father had wept even as he handed her into the Beast’s
carriage. Had he realized? Her virginity wouldn’t matter at the end of the week
if she was dead.
“Amarantha.”
The Beast leaned forward. She shrank back, but he only laid a gloved hand over
hers. “I swear I will not injure you. Your beauty is precious to me. I would
not see it marred in any way.”
She
restlessly moved her hands out from under the black leather of his glove. A
mistake, since his hand fell to her knee instead, a heavy weight through the
thin cloth.
“I will
wish to see it, however,” the Beast said, gravel in his voice.
Amarantha’s
heart stuttered. “See it?”
“You,
in your naked glory. When we reach the house. In exchange, I will not touch you
just yet.” He leaned back again. “I mention it now so that you might mull the
idea over.”
Amarantha
drew in a breath. “I do not think I shall become peaceful with the idea in that
space of time.”
“You
mistake me, my bride. Peaceful is not how I want you.”
If he’d
intended her to think about it, to imagine herself naked and vulnerable in
front of his black-cloaked figure, then he succeeded.
___________
___________
About the Author:
Jeffe (pronounced
Jeff- ee) took the crooked road to writing, stopping off at neurobiology,
religious studies and environmental consulting before her creative writing
began appearing in places like Redbook, Puerto del Sol, Wyoming Wildlife, Under
the Sun and Aeon. She has been a Ucross Foundation Fellow (2001), was a Wyoming
Arts Council roster artist, when she lived in Wyoming, and received the state’s
2005 Frank Nelson Doubleday Memorial Award for a woman writer of exceptional
talent in any creative writing genre and the 2007 Fellowship for Poetry. Jeffe
has contributed to several anthologies, Drive: Women’s True Stories of the Open
Road. (2002), Hard Ground (2003), Bombshells (2007) and Going Green (2009). Her
first book, Wyoming Trucks, True Love and the Weather Channel was published by
University of New Mexico Press in 2004. An erotic novella, Petals and Thorns,
came out under her pen name of Jennifer Paris in 2010, heralding yet another
branch of her path, into erotica and romantic fantasy fiction. Jeffe lives in
Santa Fe, with two Maine coon cats, a border collie, plentiful free-range
lizards and frequently serves as a guinea pig for an acupuncturist-in-training.
Who Is
Jennifer Paris?
I was
doing the “Jeffe Kennedy writing as Jennifer Paris” thing, but Angela James, my
editor at Carina, said no, no, no. Since I really don’t want to “flesh out”
Jennifer Paris and tweet or blog as her (she was only a cardboard cut-out
anyway), I decided to retire her. However, I have one book “Petals and Thorns”
that is by Jennifer Paris.
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1 comment:
Thank you for hosting me - very pretty site!
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