Some Write It Hot

February 4, 2011

Tom’s Story Continued–Chapter Eight by Debbie Vaughan

Filed under: Free read — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Just in case you need to catch up:

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven


“Sa, we needs to get a move on, if’n ya wants to make the dock. Sa?”

I rose at his insistence, a little light headed. When my eyes focused I saw the probable cause. Stoneware jugs littered the wood and sand inside the hull. I had never been much of a drinker. Apparently even second hand liquor still had some effect. I pushed Paul’s wrist out of my face and rose. “No Paul, I’ve fed from you twice.”

“Which means what ‘zactly? I feels fine, bullet wound done healed itsef like I t’warnt never shot.”

How did I answer his question? “Never more than twice, Thomas.” That was what Mariska had said, but not why, like she hadn’t told me exactly how to go about making another of our kind. I didn’t remember her taking blood from me but the once, before she gave me hers, but that time was hazy in my memory. She had taken near all of it when she fed, not leaving enough for my heart to pump. Paul hadn’t been as far gone, but still…

“I can’t answer your question, Paul. There are rules I must abide by, same as you. I can’t feed from the same person more than twice.” I didn’t mention the blood I gave him. Instead I asked, “When did you wake? Have you eaten?”

“‘Bout noontime, I reckon, feelin’ spray as a young buck!” He cackled a laugh. “I done had me some of them sand crabs. Beat the shucks off canned beans.” A wide grin split his face.

Relieve washed over me and I smiled in return. No harm done if he was able to be about in the daylight. “We better saddle up then.”

“Yessa, if’n ya expects to gets a bite afore ya gets aboard, we best hustle. Should be easy pickin’s on the warf.” He bent to retrieve the saddle, his shirt riding up in the process.

“Hold!” He froze to the spot, saddle in mid air. Removing the saddle from his grasp, I turned his back to the firelight. His skin was smooth, the whip marks, gone. He gasped when my cool hand spread across his back. My blood healed not only the bullet wound but his old injury as well? How could Mariska not know of this?

“What is it, Sa, a spider, a leach?” Paul dusted his hand over his back, then both hands, his eyes growing twice their size and welling with tears. “Them scars be gone too.”

“So it appears.”

“I gonna be likes ya, Sa? Not that be a bad thing, I gist askin…”

“No, I don’t believe so. You were out in the sun–”

“Meanin’ you didn’t know this here was gonna happen? Sa, meanin’ no direspec, seems to me, ya sho don’t know much.” He shook his head and took my saddle.

I picked up the McClellan and tossed it on Silas without a word. When I started to mount, a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I turned to find Paul grinning.

“Sa, ain’t no white gentleman gonna go ridin’ in to Portsmouth on a gov’ment mule while the likes of me sits tall and proud on that fine mare. No Sa! Ya takes Miss Merry, me and Silas we do gist fine.”

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