Random Thoughts From a Tech Nerd

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A low groan rumbled in his throat, and he swallowed, catching my wrist in a much larger hand. For a long moment, he simply stared down at me, but when my tongue darted out to wet lips dried by searing winds of ki and living shadows, something in him snapped. I felt it happen. Even before he pressed his lips to mine, I felt it.

Warm and soft, his kiss spoke of the forbidden. The impossible. Making my core clench with unnatural speed and fervor as ki whirled between us. Sending blood surging in delicate tissue. All around us. Invisible to the hoards of sightless mundane going about their business a scant few feet away, where only their shades could see us. The scrape of a day-old beard dragged a splintered groan from my chest, and, hands slipping down my back, he seized the taut globes of my bottom. Spreading me.

Pulling me closer.

Would that he could drag me inside his skin, where I could drink him dry and soothe this blessed, painful ache.

His teeth traced my lower lip, filling my lungs with breath and heated ki, pressing a thick bulge against my belly.

I gasped, drinking him in, demanding more. Gorging until my every cell was filled to bursting. Drawing on him as heavily as I drew upon his lips. Needing it. More. There would never be enough.

A puff of breath warmed my cheek when he twisted, breaking away from my lips with a curse, his fingers bunching the fabric of my shift. Inching it indecently high. But he drew back, setting his forehead against mine. Petting my hair back with calloused hands. Obsidian eyes concealed behind scrunched eyelids, labored breath leaving my skin damp. “God, the taste of you, girl.” He released my bottom and cupped the back of my neck, forcing me to still. “What are you?”

“I’m—” my voice cracked, and I cleared my throat, blinking as the world settled around us. Dazed, I squinted up at the man, admiring the rugged, handsome features so different to my own. Alien. Bronzed skin, muscular frame, dark hair and darker eyes—everything I wasn’t.

A Caledonian.

Kissing a Caledonian Elite in public? Had I lost my damned mind? My father would…

Nothing.

My father wasn’t here. And I hadn’t had enough. Not now. Not ever.

I buried my fist in his hair, pulling him back. Driven by instinct I didn’t recognize as my own. By a needy itch below the skin, the likes of which I’d never felt before. Before him..."

Vincent Carpenter isn't having a good day. It's the weekend and he forgot to turn off his alarm. When he rolls out of bed, he's surprised to see that his wife, Erika, isn't there. When he does find her, he mentions the dinner reservations he'd made for their tenth anniversary but she doesn't want to go. What follows is a slow trip down a rabbit hole to the land of the mundane.

Until it isn't.

Suddenly, he awakens in a strange world where nothing is normal. From the glowing forests to the skull trees, Vincent is lost in a world that would rival the minds of some modern masters of the macabre. A chance meeting with the Green Maiden forces Vincent through this nightmare world in search of a place called the Spitting Post but to get there, he must face some intense nightmares that could destroy even the strongest of psyches.

I had no idea what to expect when I started reading this story and I found it as intriguing as it was disturbing and that's a good thing. With each new ordeal/event, Vincent finds himself more immersed in his nightmares, and we as readers, gain a bit more information. So much so that once you reach the end (Spoilers!), you'll find yourself going back to reread sections again.

For when you do: "You must rethink everything you thought you knew. You must let your mind go back to the beginning and reconsider what it is you thought was truth, what you thought was reality, and what you thought was a dream," and even then, THE SPITTING POST will surprise you.

Reprinted with permission from The Romance Reviews

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When night settled in, the trees began their song of despair and completely blocked out any other noise. This is great, I thought. The beast could be right on me, and I would never even hear it. But the trees continued their sad symphony just the same.

With the thought of the beast ripping at my body and consuming my insides and the tree’s wailing, I found myself at the edge of lunacy. When dawn finally broke, the trees stopped their wailing, and the silence became deafening yet again. At last, peace and quiet. I picked myself up from the madness and marched onward. I was not a bit hungry, and my stomach was far too nervous for breakfast, so I went without. I also knew this would save time. One extra moment in this place was one too many.

Again I found my thoughts racing as fast as my feet. It would be a complete triumph when I escaped this land, or so I thought. If only I could make it to the bridge, then maybe I would be safe. As I raced on like a frightened animal about to become the beast’s dinner, I thought about the townspeople. I hoped they were safe in their new home far from here; I felt empathy for them knowing what fear the beast inspired.

I was lost in thought when again I heard the violin’s call. It was close this time—too close. I stopped and surveyed the land with terrified eyes, growing more anxious with each passing note. The ambient tune working itself into a manic frenzy. Can’t they shut up? With that racket the beast would find us, and I knew what would happen when it did. There would be no more violin playing for that musician, and I would never find The Green Maiden.

I scanned the countryside for the insane violinist and spotted him on a small hill just to my right. When I saw his ghastly appearance, I almost wished I hadn’t found him. He was a stout man dressed in total blackness with a red violin resting against his shoulder. His skin was a brilliant white, as white as a bed sheet. On his head was a black top hat, and he wore a twisted grin on his porcelain face.

“What are you doing?” I yelled. “It will hear us!”

The man said nothing and kept playing his maddening melody.

“Are you crazy?”

The man opened his mouth wide and without moving his lips, he said, “Precisely.”

Then he began to cry tears of blood, yet still he played. The blood rolled down his face and pooled on the grass. Then I came to a grotesque realization. He was not playing for amusement; he was calling the beast.

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The city first loomed over Kaius then crept up further still until it dominated both the land and the sky. Soon after he was Chosen, as part of his education, Kaius had travelled through all of the domains of Negrath and far to the south he had seen mountains. Standing at the base of a mountain was the closest experience he had to coming to the Ivory City.

The central spire stretched up into the sky, the summit's light shrouded by the clouds. The lesser spires of varying heights, interlinked by beautifully graven balconies and bridges, were home to the city's noble families from which the next Beloved would be selected by Negrath in a few more generations. The remaining buildings grew up around the base of the spires, constructed from simple stone and wooden planks like any other city. The gates were little more than cracks in the exterior walls and as Kaius walked through he could see the honeycombed structure inside the great bones the city was built from. In the places where spires had been broken over the centuries each air-pocket was turned into a minute vertical slum with a tangle of rope ladders allowing anyone access when the six foot deep cells were empty.

It was to the central spire that Kaius walked through packed street markets of screaming vendors and quiet alleys that a man not Chosen by the Eater would have done well to avoid if he meant to keep his silver in his purse and his blood in his veins.

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In the dense forests and the warrens of tunnels that the people of Walpurgan called home, the daggers were the most sensible choice, but out here in the open his weapon's reach would easily outweigh the benefits of their speed. She gave a mocking bow to him and waited for him to approach.

A cry reverberated over the city, driving the screaming crowds to silence, an owl's shriek that made the first few rows cover their ears. The individual plates of Kaius armour chattered together. The sound stayed within the armour, crushing his head like a vice.

He felt his skin quiver and in that long moment of pain and confusion she was out of his line of sight. Her dagger pricked the skin above his kidney before he could move. He rolled away from the other Chosen but she stayed close, pressing her advantage with a speed that seemed impossible without calling upon her Eater’s, and a ruthless efficiency.

She was inside his guard and it was only frantic movements that kept him from the dagger's thrusts. She kicked out twice, and hooked his feet back in closer when he tried to stagger away.

He abandoned his sword, seeing its futility and letting it fall to the ground as he danced back. It turned liquid as it hit the sand and began its slow creep back towards him. He brought his hands down to catch her wrists but he was always a moment too late. He narrowly avoided losing the tips of his fingers twice before he gave in, clenched his fists and tried to knock the knives far enough out from her tight routine to allow for some sort of response.

She was having none of it. If anything, her blows came faster, gashing along the inside of Kaius' arm on one side and a moment later slashing a line across the front of his chest.

It should have burned each time. The pain should have been sharp. Every movement should have made it sharper but instead he felt numb. The cuts, shallow as they were, felt cold. The cold was spreading. Kaius moved slower now. Even if he could call speed he would barely have kept ahead of the knife darting in at him again and again. His thoughts slowed and the arena grew grey in his sight.