Deadly Ever After

Archive for the tag “Chris Lynch”

Flash Fiction Friday Favorites

TODAY’S BREW: In light of my Trick or Treating hangover (because yes, my neighbors do serve drinks), I shall have inappropriate relations with vast amounts of coffee.

By Julie

This Halloween was a blast. So much amazing flash fiction flying around out there. I loved Joe Hart’s 31 Days of Flash Fiction (, and The Dark Carnival on Pen and Muse was incredible. (My favorite was Mark Matthew’s  Here’s a link to my very own story there that went up last night, featuring the Tunnel of Love. LOVE CONSUMES US., and if you missed it, Kristen’s incredible story, HEAVEN’S ON FIRE is here, and it’s the perfect thing to gear us up for release of BECAUSE THE NIGHT in just four short days!

For our special Halloween treat, however, Kristen and I put our fiendish minds together to bring our vampires that you love to hate into the same bloody room. See what happens when our worlds collide. Chris Lynch, my serial killing attorney turned vamp, and Tristan, Kristen’s rock star bad boy make interesting company.


The Clash of the Vampires

Her skin was so tan, it begged to be cracked and broken open like a tropical fruit, to let me taste the sweetness inside until it was gone.

Not here. I threw the dice again, willing myself not to look at the tan one, or even to feel the slowly lapping tongue of the chubby blonde in my ear on the other side as she crawled up and down my suit, wrinkling it. There would be a busty maid waiting to pick up my suit no matter what time I got back to the room, and when that busty maid quietly disappeared, another would replace her. Just like magic. This was Vegas, and magic happened all the time.

I needed to get the hell out of New Hampshire for a while, to somewhere with some refinery that appreciated a man with taste, and with taste for a special kind of sin. Looking around the high roller room, I thought I’d found it. Until my eyes landed on him.

Surrounded by a swarm of bimbos that made my dates look like choir girls, hair and leather sprawled out from the chair at the table.  He didn’t have a glass in front of him, but a bottle, that he lifted to his lips in between sucking on the necks of the girls closest to him.  He didn’t even look at them, how could he, his eyes open little more than slits.

“Young lady,” I said quietly to the waitress, a pristine thing in black and white, an old movie waiting to be colored red. She came to me quickly, smiling shyly.

“Yes, Mr. Lynch?” she said, a melodious voice that I wanted to hear scream.

“Can we please,” I glanced to the over-active corner, “tidy up a bit?”

Her eyes widened, her lips moving with a childlike uncertainty. “Oh, sir,” she said. “That is Tristan Trevosier.”

I ran a finger down her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise under my cool touch. “Why should that matter to me, darling girl?”

“He’s famous, you know?  He’s in Immortal Dilemma.”  Her eyes widened and she jerked her head back to the spectacle at the table in the corner.

“Still doesn’t matter.” My words were little more than breath against her skin.  She shivered as I spoke. “Why would that make him special?”

“I’ve heard he’s a…” She turned back again, looking nervous and lowering her voice.  “Vampire.”

“Do you know what vampires do?”

She was trembling, and it hurt to look at it. I would crush her butterfly wings to stop them from shaking. “Are you saying you think they’re real?”

“I don’t have to think it.” My shield was a fluttering thing around us, but still strong enough to keep the women I escorted from seeing as I leaned in, sniffing deeply her hot pink aroma.

“Mr. Lynch?” she squeaked, eyes darting to the shimmering air around us.

“Sssshhh.” And I plunged my fangs into the warm pulsing vein in her throat, my hand over her mouth so I could feel the scream. I’d been drinking, and my shield was a near failure. I would never be the strongest vampire. The thought of that made me drink deeper, squeeze her cheeks harder, want to consume and obliterate all at once.

“Hey! Hey, man. What the fuck are you doing?” The famous vampire approached me, snapping me out of my thrall.  There was delicious suction when I pulled my mouth from the waitress, her blood salty and thick.  She whimpered softly against my hand, now wet with her tears.  Gasps and murmurs swirled around us.  “We don’t do that shit in public.”

“You…you saw that?” It was my turn to be surprised.

The rockstar already slid his hands around the waist of my waitress, again making the swarm of on lookers and hangers-on cry out with objection or envy. He pressed her against his body, concealing her open wound.  “Yeah.  That’s not how you do it.  You do it like this. Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Drowsy, the waitress nodded as Tristan ran his tongue along her neck then laid her down over the lip of the craps table, so her legs were up above her head.  He ran his hands along her thighs, pushing up her already barely there uniform skirt and biting into the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

“What are you doing over here?” the chubby blonde bitched at the rock star. “Lynch, what is he doing?” she said, turning to me as I wiped a smear of blood off my chin. She noticed, and came quickly to look at it. “Are you okay?”

So she hadn’t seen me take the waitress’s blood. Only he had. He actually was a vampire.

I tapped him on the shoulder as he ravaged the waitress’s thigh. “I think you should go back to your hole in the earth, little boy, before I take your harem away from you.”

He raised his head just enough for me to see the blood glisten against his chin.  His eyes burned black and he bared his fangs to me.  “Try it.” He growled.

Faster than he could think, I took him by the mane of hair, wishing I didn’t have to touch it all the same, and slammed his face hard into the table next to the waitress. She screamed, a tinkling sound in this place, but only had the life left to curl in a ball on top of the game.

Tristan sprung from the table, but swayed when he stood. And I was the undisciplined one? He was a raging mess of a boy, with bloodshot eyes and a drug-thinned body. He ran at me, and I hit him, sending him back against the table. The girls were all screaming, mine and his alike. It made my teeth gnash and my heart pound.

My interests were no longer on him.

“Alright, man, I get it, you’re strong,” the rock star said.

If he said anything else, I didn’t care.  The plump blonde cried out, pushed away from the table by Tristan.  She somehow made her way into a chair, her arms wrapped loosely around her body in a hug. Nothing was going to bring her comfort tonight. I walked to her, going down on one knee and smiling into her tear brimmed eyes. I pulled her arms away from her stomach, pulling her body to mine, to taste the sweet nectar she held inside.

“Stop screaming,” I said through a smile. “It makes me crazy.”

But all the screaming around me, a cacophony of songbirds, had my teeth roaring to sink in to any one of them and all of them.

Her soft belly was in front of me and I pinned her to the chair, ripping my teeth into the flesh of it while she writhed like she loved it. The wound was wide, and she wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy me finishing her blood.

When I drained her, I moved to the next one, and the next one, wondering how long I had before the cameras caught on through the shield. I saw Tristan flash by as he did the same, laboring over the sucking of each girls’ thighs and chests, while I relished the distress of the others. It was a beautiful tragedy, perfection of destruction.

All too soon, the bystanders were reduced to bodies strewn on the carpet like emptied drink cups.  The rock star sat back down at his game table and ran his fingers through his hair.  He raised his bottle to me. “Cheers.”

Invigorated from our little competition, I couldn’t help but ask. “So what else is there to do around here on a Friday night?”

***You can find more Lynch in Running Home and more Tristan in Because The Night.***


The Anatomy of a Vampire: Running Home style

TODAY’S BREW: Chocolate cappuccino stuff. Also known as Waiting For Pumpkin Spice.

By Julie

VAMPIRE WEEK, BABY! And yes, the anatomy of a vampire, but not like that. Come on, dirty birds.

This is all about my vampires, and what makes them mine. Not their personalities, but what makes them up, the bones of them.

The Shinigami vampires of Running Home have this stuff going on:

1.  They feed on whoever they are called to feed on, a fated urge to take the life of a specific human, for reasons revealed in the book. If they don’t do it, no other blood will be able to nourish them. They will wither to the brink of death, but never really die. WAY WORSE.

2.  When they feed, they’re left with a human residue, certain aspects of the human’s personality that they carry around in themselves for indeterminate amounts of time. Sometimes the human’s memories invade their own, making life for them kinda sucky. If they feed on an animal, they take on the traits of that animal, as well.

3.  My vampires can go out in sunlight if they drink the blood of a person who is essentially good. The better the soul, the more light they can withstand and enjoy. But if they drink the blood of an evil man, they are condemned to live in darkness until the blood wears away, and it becomes a darkness of the very soul.

4.  They create a shield of sorts, a bubble that protects them from the view of humans. Some are better at it than others. Lynch, for instance, isn’t disciplined enough to bother sometimes, while Nicholas has made it an art form, as expected.

5.  When the Shinigami vampires get angry or turn into their vampire selves, it creates a blast of cold that can actually radiate a frost from them and chill everyone around them. Again, the stronger the vampire, the more this is felt. Nicholas is entirely unique in his abilities with cold. READ THE DAMN BOOK, WHAT IS THIS, YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING?

6.  They can’t read minds, folks. Nope.

7.  They don’t sleep because they get tired. They sleep because they become weary.

8.  They do have a thrall, a mesmerizing ability to lure a person in, unique to every human, but scent is usually the one that hits home. The scent of a vampire is ever-changing, speaking to the needs and emotions of the person as they change as well; for Eliza, the scent of peppermint brownies makes her calm down, puts her right at home when she’s at her most restless. Nicholas seems to always have a scent of woods and baked goods for her.  Roman smells differently to her, settles her in a different way that is soothing, but not connected to her heart the way Nicholas is. Roman smells of the ocean and salt air.

9. They’re fast, and strong. Stick to the classics.

10. You don’t just get turned into a vampire willy-nilly. The Shinigami are born and found, and trained before they’re given eternal life.

That was fun for me, and I hope it was fun for you! And please, if you have questions about how I created the mythology, or about the vampire anatomy, please ask here or find me on Twitter!

Character Expo: Chris Lynch of Running Home

TODAY’S BREW: A gallon of this S’mores coffee, and then I will pour the grounds into the air conditioner to see what happens.

by Julie

Kristen will be pleased, today I feel like talking about our resident psychopath, Chris Lynch.

Charming, hot bastard. He’s nuts.

Running Home‘s most obvious villain is the sharknado of an attorney, hunted down in Boston by the old guys who work at the sad excuse of a “law firm” that Kat works at, to bring in some fresh, new blood. No pun intended. (Totally intended.) Young and wealthy, worldly, polished and calculating, Lynch is a fish out of water in Ossipee, New Hampshire, and fits together with Kat as well as Paula Deen fits into a waffle house. Kat could not fall harder for the smooth talker.

Desperate to rid himself of his eternal babysitters, Roman and Nicholas, Lynch is eager to head to New Hampshire, if only for new hunting grounds. Lynch is one of the Shinigami, with fated victims to put to rest, chosen for him, but that doesn’t stop his killing nature. Killing humans isn’t just a job for Chris Lynch, it’s something he’s worked at his entire existence. His carefully hidden twisted mentality combined with the unmatchable weapons of his charm and vampire abilities makes him a danger that needs reeling in. Nicholas and Roman are just the vampires to do it, no matter how much they resent it. Obligation is obligation, and the Shinigami don’t turn their backs on their calling.

Chris is more trouble than he seems to be worth. His need to kill isn’t only based on his thirst for blood, but the sick mind that fuels it. Kat sees none of this, and Ellie can’t convince her of the impossible to believe. And Lynch loves the problems he causes like a kid setting fire to things to watch them burn.

I wrote a couple of short stories from the sick bastard’s point of view in The Love Abominable, here and The Love Abominable, Part 2, here And you’ll get a faceful of him in Running Home.

He’s My Roman But I Will Share: Running Home Character Expos

TODAY’S BREW: Water. I went out in the sun for an hour & feel like Vampire Bill. HELP ME, SOOKEH.

By Julie


Running Home’s release is quickly approaching. Like, HURK every five minutes or so approaching. What I want to do until then is A) HURK B) Dance and drink C) give you guys, our faithful readers, some extra insight into the characters and where the hell they came from and where they will go. (Without giving away too much.)

I’m overwhelmed by the amount of love there is from my early readers for Roman. HoHWhen it started, I just didn’t want Nicholas to be alone. I loved him too much for that. So I needed someone I could love as much to share his company.

I was on maternity leave when this whole Running Home thing came to fruition. And I watched The Departed, basically every day. I fell in love with Leonard DiCaprio’s character, and loved that it was set in New England, like the book. So, here’s my boy.



He was the perfect companion to Nicholas; humble (not Nicholas), and reserved (not Nicholas). Roman’s heart of gold is exposed throughout Running Home, as is his heartbreaking story of family, loss, and ghosts that haunt his heart. He was much beloved in life, and still is as a vampire, but the sadness in him makes him broody (hot), and gives him a darker side that takes everyone, especially Eliza, by surprise. It’s the understandable kind of dark that comes from a difficult life and expectations, and some piss poor luck. (Chris Lynch is his walking, talking reminder of what bad luck can do for a person.) This is what Roman feels like when he has to deal with Lynch, as he does too often:

Nicholas admires Roman greatly for his generosity and quiet confidence. It gives Roman the protector he deserves, someone as strong and worthy as he is, who always has his back.

Roman’s committment to Nicholas has a darkness to it, as well, that you don’t expect.



I hope you readers love Roman the way I do, because wow, I really do. It’s not the swoony kind of love I have for Nicholas. It’s that he’s so real, perfect in his flaws, which I completely understand and don’t fault him for. And his undying loyalty for those he loves makes him the kind of person I want to give the same to. I’m glad I could create a family for him that did.

Thank you all for your support of Running Home and me. Being able to talk about this character who lives so deeply in me to people who want to know him fills me with love for you all.

The Love Abominable: Part 2

TODAY’S BREW: Double chocolate blend. YES.

by Julie 

I talk so much about Trent from The Animal that I hope you haven’t forgotten Chris Lynch from The Love Abominable, a spinoff story from the novel I swear I’m querying, Running Home. Come watch Chris from a safe distance. I hope you enjoy!  Check out part one here.

The Love Abominable

Part Two

It had been twelve days since I had my hands on the throat of a woman.  Squeezed into fists, they shook with their emptiness.

Blood. Blue black visions of gurgling death under my fingernails, caked in her sunshine hair, heartbreaker eyes fading into nothing. The reek of salt as it pours from her throat, breasts, broken face, making me tremble until I could no longer sit. I gnashed my teeth, throwing myself out of my chair and pacing the office, the ridiculous calm of the snowy landscape outside my window mocking me, my mind that throbbed with desperation.

Every woman and no woman brought it out in me. They were all waiting and they didn’t know it.

I had no legal cases to throw myself into. New Hampshire had no excitement to warrant such a thing regularly. If I ever had a soul, it would have ached at being forced to concentrate on nothing. Never happy, never in that Zen zone that the other fucking vampires found so easily. The mere thought of them….

A chill came over me as my teeth elongated, the cold running down my legs and into my feet, freezing me for a second to the floor. Only for a second. When goddamn Nicholas’s fangs showed the entire room froze over, beautiful wintry death, evil and yet loved by all who came near to him. I hated him for it. Now he had followed me here, when I thought I could finally kill in peace.

“Fuck!” My lip bled from the fangs. Putting my fingers to my lip, fury filled me that I still did this. I still had as little control as Nicholas and Roman said. I would never be as good as them. My arms and legs went numb with my own cold, another thing that made me weak.  I stomped my foot hard on the floor, desperate to act out some way, but stuck, stuck forever, stuck. The floor quaked, a crack opened in the nearby wall. I smiled.

Then there she was, outside the door. I swear I could smell her thoughts. She was raspberry licorice, cinnamon hearts, and whipped cream, a walking valentine. I would clip her Cupid’s wings.

She knocked lightly and entered, her smile too wide, childlike enthusiasm etched with a sugary sensuality. Perfection in her pink dress, strawberry shortcake in stilettos.

“ Hi Chris.” she said in her Tinkerbell voice. Her lips made the most perfect motion when she said my name. I would kiss them gently, lick them wet and bite them until she couldn’t scream.

“Hello, Kat.” She rendered me speechless at times. The human halo that she was, too good for this world. Too good for me. I wanted her, and I wanted to bring her down to demon level, make her see the other side. I felt the cold touch me again, ready to take her to the floor, rip her dress off, defile and love her like only we gods of death could do. She wanted it. Her eyes cried for me to touch her.

Her ruffles shifted around her as she sat in the chair behind my desk, like she had the first day we met, and every day since. Her audacity pleased me. It meant she would have even further to fall.

“You have a meeting with a potential client tomorrow, Mr. Lynch,” she said through her perpetual smile. It made us both smile more when she called me Mr. Lynch. We had been on first name basis since days after I began working at the firm. I operated quickly, and she was no exception.

The deep seeded terror that she might not made me want her more. I would keep her dripping heart in my hand while her pretty eyes closed.

“Finally, something to sink my teeth into,” I said.  She calmed me. Warmth seeped back into my limbs, my fangs no longer tingling to appear.

“Nothing exciting, I’m afraid. Just a real estate case. An older couple, Simmons. I think their granddaughter works at the drugstore down the street.”

“Anything is better than nothing.” I had moved closer to her without even intending to. I wanted to be closer to her forever. I would find a way to keep her forever in our own bloodred Heaven.

My proximity made her wiggle in the chair, batting her eyelashes because that was her way, not because she was trying to charm me. I could not be charmed. I was the snake in the desert.

“I would love to show you something better,” she purred, leaning her elbows on my desk, “but this is all I’ve got.” Her smile became more knowing, the minx.

“What you’ve got is intensely desirable. So no apologies needed.” My voice was calm water over sharp river rocks. I lured her in, made her mine with every word. I moved in, so close to her I could smell her breath, but pulled back just as quickly.

There was no trusting myself with this one. Not until I believed that I wanted her alive.

Disappointment crushed her face. She bit her lip. My fists clenched again, holding me to the spot I stood, willing me not to take the flight from her wings.

She stood, eyes fluttering, her perfume wafting over me, worse when she breezed by me, her hip brushing my side, her doe eyes teasing me.

“Back to work for me, or I will be here all night.” She dropped a file on the desk, the name “Simmons” in her bubbly handwriting on the tab.

Kat stopped before she left my office, delicate hand on the doorknob. Hesitation did not appeal to me, she was a woman who did what she wanted with innocent confidence, stopping the world with her unintentional ease. That she was afraid to tell me something stabbed me inside with more failure. No woman should make me feel this way, I would make her pay for it. And yet, I crumpled inside to think of her warmth being snuffed out when I ripped the silken hair from her head, bit her cheeks and clawed at her skin.

“Say what you need to, Kat,” I spat through clenched teeth, fangs elongating. She made me feel. I could only hope she didn’t notice my lack of control.

A kitten’s sigh from her. Her hand dropped from the doorknob, and she turned to look at me. That smile was gone, the one she lived in that was always there. I had taken it from her.

“Chris, I am just glad you’re here.” Sweet words, but her eyes were sad. “I hope you’re glad I am here, too.” And she left with a sullen smile that put a craving in me to hold her, tell her I was hers.

I would belong to no one.

She left my office, my dismal thoughts pairing with my lack of real work to do. I wished I never left Boston, where there was no shortage of cases that would plaster my face all over the news, or women that I could drain of their blood and self-important dignity.

Growling and shaking with need, I sat at my desk in what had become her chair, her scent still lingering in its leather, and I picked up the file she left. Simmons. I stared at the name, trying to create a new image in my head that didn’t have any of Kat’s unique beauty.

Kat was why I longed to end a blonde, I realized. Trying to run from her. And maybe my subconscious didn’t want to do those things to anyone resembling the red-haired vixen that was worming her way into my chest. That woman was a plague of emotion that could never be mine and vulnerability I would never allow.

I was losing control. I was sweating. I was afraid. And my anger was unrelenting. The folder I held tore like tender flesh in my hands. Opening it, desperate to focus on something solid, I carefully turned the few pages of notes and documents, trying not to rip anything else.

And then it was there.

A photo of the property in question. A charming Victorian, light blue with gingerbread trim. A manicured lawn surrounded, of course, by the endless fucking trees that New Hampshire was proud of. A family posed on porch steps. An elderly couple, the owners, the husband now dead and giving me a case to handle. Their son, who looked exactly like him but for a tan that matched his wife’s. Obviously they didn’t reside in this abyss of snow and backwoods wonder.

And her.

Young curves that would bruise if held just the right way. Breasts that were still becoming a woman’s, though she was in her early twenties.  Angelic smile that reminded me of Kat, unassuming, sweet, but not with Kat’s self-assured thoughtfulness. So like Kat, and so unlike. And this girl had blonde curls, cascading over her shoulders, touching her breasts, skimming her eyes.

The color of the sun. The color of spring daylight and daffodils and all the naïve beauty of Goldilocks.

Saliva dripped onto the photo. My fangs had grown past my bottom lip, my fingertips turning blue with the frigidity that the change brought.

“Christine,” I read amongst the names scrawled at the bottom of the photo.

“I think their granddaughter works at the drugstore down the street.” Kat’s voice echoed in my head. Romance and death intermingled in unending dance. The dual urge to create a black and white movie romance to end in entrails, sinister and sweet, ending as tragic as a good romance should flourished inside me. Creating this love that I was growing and finishing it the only way I knew how.

Before I went too fast with Kat, I should practice, shall we say, make this dance perfect.

Wiping the saliva off my lip, I felt repossessed, the debonair attorney that made women wet with his smile and smoldering eyes. I buttoned up my coat, looking every bit as stunning as Carey Grant already, and left my office. I was not afraid to walk past Kat.

“Kat, I’ll see you tomorrow. I need to go to the drugstore.”


March Madness: It begins!

Today’s Brew:  All the coffee


You may or may not be relieved to find this post has nothing to do with college basketball. Julie’s husband came up with a great concept for the month of March:  March Madness.  Julie and I will be exploring all that is creepy–haunted stuff, insanity, mental institutions, deviants, and scary old buildings.  On Manic Mondays, check in for short stories.

This Old House

Julie and I were obsessed with this house when we were kids.  It looks much better now than it did then.  It’s previous owner had let it fall into disrepair to the point we thought they had abandoned it.  You may have a hard time believing this, but we were bold little kids, and we had no problem going right up to the windows and sticking our faces in. Today we would realize the old owners were just  hoarders, not the killers we assumed.  We’d see yellowing newspapers and moldy boxes of Cheese Its.  I don’t remember, but Julie says she say someone sleeping on a bed inside.  (Side note by Julie: I was almost certain that person was dead. They so weren’t, of course, but I was convinced.) That didn’t stop us from peaking in, seeing what we could see.  Both of us credit that house with our current fascination with abandoned buildings in disrepair. Sometimes I photograph them.  I like to call them wreckage.  Even more fascinating is that some of these dilapidated buildings are still in use!   I stopped to take pictures of what I thought was a closed business in a neighboring town one day, shocked to realize that it was very much still in operation.


March Madness gives me a reason to play with insanity, a terror I hold near and dear. Kristen and I are excited to toy with the creative genius and their madnesses. The best works are reflective of the inner lunatic, I believe. I’ll work on insane vampire myths and stories, as well as plenty on asylums, which I am particularly psyched out of my mind for. I will be researching OCD this month, too, for my Trent from The Animal, so I will keep you updated. You may get to see something from my favorite vampire serial killer, Chris Lynch, also, if you’re lucky.

Strap up that straightjacket, friends, for some decadently dark stuff this month.

The Love Abominable

TODAY’S BREW: Santa Nuts. Or, hazelnut mingled lovingly with Santa’s White Christmas blend.

By Julie

Here’s a little ditty that I have been dying to write.  The first short story based on characters from my beloved Running Home and work in progress, Running Away.  I am really excited to give a little insight into the mind of a secondary character, who also happens to be Kristen’s favorite.  Enjoy!  Jeffrey Donovan of Burn Notice, pay attention. You’re playing this guy in the movie.

The Love Abominable


Beneath me. 

This entire state was beneath me, with its moose and bears and flannel shirts and Live Free or Die license plates.  Boston was perfect.  When it was time to kill, there were just enough willing bodies ready.  Masshole women flocked to me like lemmings to the cliff.  Pathetic, how an Italian suit and the word “attorney” catches the heart of a woman with nothing to live for.

I kicked snow off my shoes in aggravation as I entered.  The “law office” was depressing.  A glorified old country house bristling with old men and the smell of mildew.  A surge of anger stifled the sadness as I recalled the office I left behind in Boston.

I had to get away from the other vampires.  Fate reared its ugly head when I was offered this job.  I was hoping it would be close enough that my Creator felt he could watch me intently, but far enough that I could do as I wished without his interference.

I could not handle any more stifling interference.  I was a force that needed to run free.

And here I was, a god among men, degraded into a petty job for the sake of running away. I was a child, desperate for freedom at any cost.  It was all I could do to retract my fangs, because I knew I would not be able to hold up the shield in my fury, to hide them from the useless mortals that would work side by side with me.  People with no fate, living without reason.

I knew my reason.  And it would be the death of them.

“You must be Chris.”  I smelled her behind me.  Peonies.  In the dead of winter.  She was strong and unassuming.  I knew this before seeing her.

I spun to see what creature could catch my attention in this beehive of worthlessness.

Fiery locks licked her shoulders.  Petite, with stunning curves and alabaster skin, she was a porcelain doll that I longed to break. Her eyes flitted with hummingbird life that I wanted to watch die.

For that briefest of moments, I didn’t hate moving to this hick New Hampshire town.

I didn’t give her the smile right away.  That smile sealed more deals than I could remember.  I wanted to savor this one.  I let her look into my eyes with her own chocolate browns, wanted her to fall for the intensity she would see there.  When I gave her the smile, she curled in on herself a little, lips twitching.

“I’m Chris Lynch.  And you are?”  Formal words, but with a secretive gaze.  It pulled her to me.

She gathered herself, and held out her hand.  Warm, soft, childlike.  I wanted to grow her up and make her mine.  I wanted her death to taste like pure need of me.

“I’m Kat, the receptionist here.”  Her lips moved with such frosting softness, I could tear them off and eat them.   She gave me a manila folder, telling me details of things I would never need to remember, and would not be able to.  Gorgonized.

Her softness was savage.  I would brand myself into her.

“Let me show you to your office, Mr. Lynch,” she said, breezing past me with the slightest whiff of hothouse flowers, peonies on fire.

I trailed her through the dingy “office,” nodding politely at the geysers who brought me here as they pored over papers on old desks.   Archaic all around.

“They gave you the good office,” she said with a toothy grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh.  “This is the only office.”

“Well, there is that.”  Her smile was electric, stinging of vivid sex appeal.  Everything about her was dark pastels, creamsicle orange, jellybean lilac, spring grass green.  I could taste her sunlight.  I would eat her alive.

She sat in my chair, back to the windows overlooking yet more woods, grinning with childlike ferocity.

“Does your wife like it here?” she asked knowingly, meeting my eyes, twisting a strand of hair in her fingers.

I smiled wide, making her head cock to the side with a flirtatious vulnerability at my charm, and called her out.  “She likes it just fine.”

Her face fell, her fingers stopped moving, the slight rock of the chair stilling.

“Gotcha,” I said, waggling my eyebrows.

The laugh she possessed was a work of art.  Honest, feminine, completely unselfconscious.  Gorgeous.  I would strangle it from her when we kissed.

“Did you leave someone behind in Boston?”

Images of screaming, bleeding, bruised and defiled women overcame me, bringing a smile to my lips and a song to my heart that I could not push away.  “I imagine I left several someones behind, but none of them mattered.”

She blinked, unsure.  I gave her the winning smile that made me the attorney I was, that made me ladykiller I was.  No pun intended.  I strolled to the desk, her scent getting closer with every step.  Throwing the file folder on it, I sat on the desk and watched her.  I watched her breathe. I watched her blood pump under the skin of her wrists, her lips pucker and relax, her eyes dilate and undulate.

“I live all alone in a great big house,” I said with mock sadness.  Her glimmering teeth answered me.

“You just moved here.  I’m sure you will meet a great girl in no time.”

“Maybe I already have.”

Kat’s blood flooded to her cheeks, brutally innocent.  Intoxicating.

“I—“ she broke off her sentence with a nervous giggle.  “That’s very nice.” Her tight lipped little smile was equal parts beautiful and unlike her.

I already knew it was unlike her.  The thought boiled me.  I imagined her head lolling backwards, almost severed from her body, soupy scarlet life bubbling and frothing all over her pastel perfection.

She giggled, snapping me back.  My fangs were pricking my lip.  She didn’t see.

“Sorry to be so—I feel like I am being very unprofessional,” she said, sitting up straighter.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

“No, it’s refreshing.”  And I kept talking, despite myself.  “You have a certain natural sophistication that makes you both stand out and blend in.”  Fingernails on my soul to have said such a thing and meant it.  Vomit and torture and peeling the skin back.

Kat’s face softened to a heart-revealing realness that made her the most extraordinary fantasy creature that I had ever seen.

“Thank you,” she said, seriously and with a hint of sadness.

When she shifted, I could smell her peony perfume, flowers reaching to a heaven that didn’t exist, scrambling for a fate they would never meet.

“Kat, I have an invitation to extend to you.”

Want more?  Check out part two here.

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