Some Write It Hot

February 4, 2011

Tom’s Story Continued–Chapter Eight by Debbie Vaughan

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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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January 28, 2011

Tom’s Story Continued–Chapter Seven by Debbie Vaughan

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Just in case you need to catch up:

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

“You best be steppin’ lively,” he cackled. “Or as light as a dead man can.”

I cast a disparaging glance over my shoulder as I got my bedroll. “You’re not worried you might upset me, Paul? I can’t figure if you’re that brave or just stupid.”

“Bit of both, I reckon.” He cackled louder. “But then I ain’t the one that’s fixin’ to lay me down in the dirt for a nap, while a body I don’t know keeps guard over me and mine.”

He put a fine point on my own thoughts, but my choices were few and dwindling fast. Dawn was about to break. I unrolled my blanket into the trench he’d fashioned in the sandy loam then, stretched out on it. I raised a brow as he flapped another blanket to unfurl it.

“This here will keep the topdressin’ from getting you over dirty.” He spread the blanket, smelling strongly of mule, over me. “Rest easy, Massa Tom.”

“I am no one’s master,” I said aloud—I thought. The sound of hands moving soil and mulch grew faint and then– nothing.
I awoke to the bitter sweet smell of chicory. What Paul used for coffee. I had survived the day with body intact and my companion still with me. I rose slowly, letting the soil and debris shift from the blanket before I removed it. Popping it into the air removed the remainder.

“Be whit’cha in a bit. Jist finishin’ up dinner.” Paul held his plate high, shoveling the beans in his mouth.

The sight of him left me lighthearted. He was a man of his word. I stretched my arms and cracked my back. “Take your time. Have the animals been watered?”

“Only a wee bit Sa, just a sip from the canteen. I daren’t leave ya to go to the crick.”

“That’s right good of you, Mr. Monroe–.”

“Paul, Sa—jist Paul be fine.”

“Paul, you finish your meal and I’ll water the stock.” I untied Silas and Merry and led them the twenty or so yards to where a brook babbled merrily over tree roots and stones. As they drank, I washed the parts I could, rinsed my mouth and wet my hair, running my fingers through in place of a comb. When finished, we returned to the campsite.

Paul sat studying his wrist. He looked up as we entered the fire’s glow. “Don’t that beat all?” He held his wrist up for inspection. “If’n I din’na know no better, I’d said I done dreamed this whole biznez.”

I took his wrist in my hand, no sign of my bite remained. Only a scar of an old rope burn marred his brown flesh. So, not just animal hide.

“You seem surprised Sa. Ain’t this how it always is?”

“Truth-be-told Paul, I don’t honestly know. I don’t normally stay around after feeding.” I raised my eyes and a brow to look into his face. “I knew our spit could stop the bleeding, but not that it healed so completely.”

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January 14, 2011

Tom’s Story Continued Chapter Six by Debbie Vaughan

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Just in case you need to catch up click on

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five

“Hail the camp!” The smell of beans and bacon had mixed with salt spray and wet sand for the last five miles, someone’s late dinner or very early breakfast. A few hours yet before dawn, I reckoned I had time to stop for a bite and still reach the shore in time to hunker down for the day.

I watched the lone Negro man spring to his feet and reach for his rifle, scanning the wood line in my direction.

“Hold!” He called out, slinging his rifle to his shoulder with practiced ease as the mare stepped into the glow of the campfire. “What’cha be doin’ out and about this time of the morning–Sa?”

The “sir” came belated, as an afterthought. Free he might well be, but cautious. The rifle was Government Issue. I raised my hands, palms outward. “On my way to meet a ship and running a little late, hence my need to travel when I should be sleeping. Mind if I share your fire for a bit?”

“N’sa, I reckon that’d be gist fine. Step on down and into the light. That be a fine lookin’ mare you got yosef there. Mighty fine.” He stepped to the mare’s side, lowering his rifle to stroke her sleek neck. “Here Sa, I takes her fer ya. She can visit with Silas. He’ll be plumb beside hisself keepin’ such fine company.”

I stepped down from the saddle and handed him the reins. Watching as he led her to the picket line where his mule, also Government Issue, was tethered. The man was a medium hue, small, wiry and about as bowlegged as they come. “You seem to know horseflesh.”

“Few things I know better. I worked on a horse farm afor the war, was a wrangler for the Third in it.” He wiped his palm on his pants and then offered it as he leaned his rifle against the tree. “I is Paul. Paul Monroe.”

I took the hand he offered. “Tom Thornton.”

He snatched back his hand and reached for the rifle, his eyes wide but showing no panic. “What be ya, mista?”

Well, this was a twist I hadn’t expected. Granted, my hand was cool, but there was a chill to the autumn air I had thought would mask it. I started to say I meant him no harm, but for some reason couldn’t force the lie past my lips. Curiosity got the better of me. “What do you think I am Paul Monroe?”

He pondered that for a bit. “Ain’t no haint gonna be travelin’ on hossback.” He held my gaze, then squatted and ran a blind hand through his gear. He produced a torn and tattered book. Steadying the rifle against his shoulder with one hand he thrust the book out to me with the other. “Hold on to that, if’n ya please.”

I took the book from his outstretched hand and rolled it over to expose the worn cross on its cover. “Your Bible has seen better days, friend. You read it often?”

“No’sa. I can’t rightly read, but I knows some of them lines by memry. And now I knows you ain’t no devil, but you ain’t no livin’ man either. What’ch be?”

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December 13, 2010

Tom’s Story Continued–Chapter Five by Debbie Vaughan

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Just in case you need to catch up click on

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four

I had never seen Mariska panic. She paced from wardrobe to valise, packing my meager garments with care.

Having come to her with only the tattered shirt on my back, I never thought to ask where the remainder of my clothing had originated. I could probably have come to some conclusions on my own, but I chose not to dwell of it, then or now. I caught her arm as she passed. “Hold. I have to be able to close the bag, sweetheart– and the horse to carry it.”

She paused to stare at the case as if only seeing it for the first time, closed her eyes and shook her head. Continuing to fold the shirt in her hands, she sat on the bed next to me. “I only delay our conversation Thomas, which is wrong of me. But I will miss you so.”

“Then come with me.” I watched her eyes for a sign and saw only resolution. Whatever had been plaguing her mind since the general’s visit, she had come to a decision.

“I cannot Thomas, for more reasons than we have time for me to explain.” She took my hand in both of hers then, gazed deeply into my eyes. “I would beg a pledge from you, but be warned; the vow will be hard to keep.”

“Anything,” I answered without reservation or thought. She smiled.

“Do not make another.” She placed a finger on my lips. “It sounds simple, but as your life runs on, you will be tempted. Do not give in. Find love where you can. Human life is precious and fleeting, but by turning them you will almost certainly extinguish the very thing you love, their humanity. Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t. I love you and you aren’t human and yet are more so than most people I have known. If you had not told me different, I would never have believed we were the same as those others. Surely there are more– can be more– like us?”

She caressed my cheek, a sad smile on her lips. “Oh, Thomas, you love me yes, but not in the way a man should love the woman of his heart. I understand because I feel the same. You are a strong, passionate man. You will find your true love, perhaps many times. I will give my heart to only one, but he has always been enough.” Her hand clutched the rosary around her neck.

“You talk as if I won’t be back. This mission will take at best, three months and most of that on the seas.”

I was to travel to Istanbul and find a certain gentleman in power and remove him. He was an Englishman selling British secrets to the Turks. My orders were to bring him over or to kill him. He was a spy, why would they want him a vampire? Dead he would no longer be a threat and the vow I was about to make to Mariska would hold.

“Just to be clear, these missions they send me on– no matter my orders– I should kill rather than turn them vampire?”

She squared her shoulders and her eyes met mine. “Yes, Thomas, that is exactly what I ask, but, if you find them other than you have been told and can save them, do so. You cannot trust your superiors as you well know. Can you promise me this?”

I sort of enjoyed the idea of disobeying that pompous ass of a general as well as making my own determination as to who was worthy to live or doomed to die. “I swear it.”

She breathed a heavy sigh, relief evident in her face. “Thank you Thomas.”

My chest tightened and eyes grew moist as I looked down at her.

“You have but eight hours of darkness remaining. You should leave now.” She brushed her lips on mine.

I crushed her to me, turned and walked to the door before the blood fell from my eyes. I paused on the threshold without turning, then blurted, “That ass was joshing about the rats?”

“Blood is life to us Thomas—any blood, from a living vessel. If a rat keeps you from revealing what you are or taking a human life, that is good, yes?”

-Read more >

December 3, 2010

Tom’s Story Continued–Chapter Four by Debbie Vaughan

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Just in case you need to catch up, click on

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Months passed, the spring of my rebirth turning into fall. Just when I was beginning to doubt Mariska’s words, they came. The general with a half smoked, well chewed cigar in the corner of his mouth, looked me over like I was his prize bull. I didn’t like it, not one little bit.

His attaché was a young feller with a high opinion of his self. He doffed his hat, ran a hand through his long yellow hair before removing a white glove which he used to dust off his chair before sitting. He held it delicately afterward, as if it had been dipped in hog shit, although even my eyes couldn’t detect any soil. Mariska was a fiend about keeping a tidy house.

I noted the worry lines etched around her eyes and lips. What did she fear? I’d be on my best behavior. She needn’t be concerned I’d show myself the fool. My nature made me a natural mimic and my uncouth speech and mannerisms no longer marked me as the illiterate son of Irish immigrants…unless I wanted them too. I would watch and listen before I decided who I would be this night.

“Is he in complete control of his faculties?” The general asked Mariska, as if I wasn’t standing at her back. He watched her warily as he sipped his tea. His man sat holding his cup, but I had yet to see the liquid approach the well trimmed mustache which almost hid his sneer.


Something was definitely amiss. Mariska never failed to proclaim my slightest achievement, yet she had answered in a word. Curious.

“What do you have to say for yourself boy?” The question was clipped round the cigar. His eyes intent on mine as he waited, watching, like a hunter stalking his prey.

I couldn’t help but smile. He thought of me as prey? A mistake he might not live to repeat. It peeved me to see Mariska upset, so I bit my tongue and spoke politely, “What would you have me say, sir?”

He yanked the cigar out of his mouth and tossed at the fireplace. “Don’t pussyfoot with me, son. Are you up to the job or not?”

His rudeness rankled. “How am I to answer when I have no idea of what job you speak?”

He turned a hard glare at his attaché. “Captain?”

The nonplussed blond merely waived his glove in an affected manner. “I sent my second lieutenant—they must have eaten him. They are animals.” He stood hurriedly, tripped over his chair, landing in an untidy heap against the far wall as we descended upon him.

“I have a mind to furnish their dessert, but fear you might upset their stomachs. Wait outside,” the general growled.

“But sir, it is past midnight and there are others –” His face shone with perspiration.

I hid my fangs behind closed lips as the smell of his fear coursed through me. I had fed, luckily for him, but the rich scent of terror in his blood made him oh, so tempting. The others, ruled by their lusts, did not share my restraint. Smiling out of spite, I enjoyed his gasp before turning to his superior. “Are good assistants easy to come by? I fear you will need another if he sets foot outside before dawn.”

Retrieving a fresh cigar from his pocket, the general stubbed it between his teeth and nipped off the end. Mariska fetched a burning twig from the fire to light it. “Brave woman,” he commented as he accepted her gesture, ignoring the captain who righted himself, then the chair and after a moment’s hesitation, offered it to the lady. “So, have you taught him as well?”

Mariska dipped her head to acknowledge his compliment. Few things could kill a vampire, fire, foremost among them. “Thomas required little training. He is very quick. I would ask a boon. This job you speak of will be his first. May I be permitted to accompany him?”

“Far too dangerous– for a lovely lady like yourself.” The general’s smile was gentle, but his eyes cold and calculating.

Mariska’s lips were a firm line and fear shone from beneath her hooded eyes. Did she think they planned to hold her hostage to insure I completed this untold mission and returned to the fold?

“And if I refuse to go without her?”

He chewed at the cigar and raised a brow in question. “You are still a soldier, boy-o. You will follow orders and do as you’re told.”

Anger seethed through me. “Or what, you’ll kill me—again?”

-Read more >

November 17, 2010

Tom’s Story Continued–Chapter Three by Debbie Vaughan

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Tom’s Story continues here’s the link for Chapter one and Chapter two just in case you missed the beginning.

The more I learned from Mariska, the less I liked what I had become. Hatin’ her would come easy except she seemed to hate herself enough fer the both of us, which I found plumb peculiar. Even odder, was my body’s yen fer her. I couldn’t be anywhere’s near her without touchin’– or more. And while she was obliging, as my mind came back to me I began to see signs she wasn’t as happy about our couplin’ as she might be.

“Why you cryin’?” My chest grew wet, not for the first time. She stilled in my arms, then went to push me away, but I held on. My strength had grown in the past weeks. She could have fought to free herself, but this time chose not to. “Mariska, you don’t act happy to be with me, yet you never deny me. Why do you suppose that is?”

She lay silent fer a spell, then propped an elbow on my chest and looked at me. “You know that it is in our nature for the lusts to mingle. The lust takes you each time you feed. To consummate the sexual act we must feed and feeding is sexual.” Her mouth twisted in the semblance of a smile. “Your urges are powerful, Thomas. Mine are…less so.”

I brought her face to mine, kissing her eyelids before licking the blood from her cheeks. She—we—cried tears of blood. Vampires were all about blood. I suspected if I took a piss, that would be blood too. But I didn’t—piss—not anymore. “Why?”

She caressed my face and sadness filled her eyes. “You are most desirable Thomas. My body enjoys what we do, but my guilt eats away the pleasure. All my vows, broken.”

“You said that before. Vows to who?” I eased up in the bed, letting my eyes wander to the window and the shadowy bodies moving about outside.

She drew a deep breath, which shook her lithe body. Vampires don’t have a need of air. She exhaled in a loud sigh. “The time has come for you to know all, Thomas. Have you felt the desire to couple with the others?”

“No.” I said quickly and hard. “Them gals seem a bit off and they act sort’o scared of me—you too. Why, do you suppose?”

Her smile was brighter this time as if she were pleased by my answer. “Ashamed I may be, but I did choose well. You are very bright Thomas. You notice the small things. Such vision will keep you safe if you nurture it. We are different from the others. What else have you witnessed?”

“They kill more often than not.” The words came out harsh and cold. They fed like a pack of wolves, not caring about their prey. Mariska had taught me to only take what I needed, which while more than she, was little enough. A body need not die from our feeding and we never fed from the same person more than twice in a row. “Sweet Jesus –”

Tormented howls rose out of the dark. Mariska raised a brow in question.

“Why do they do they scream like the devil’s after them?”

“It is not the devil they fear.” Her other brow rose to join its sister.

I stared at her in puzzlement. Not the devil? “What in God’s na–?” The dark erupted in wails. “Dear Lord!” The wails grew louder. “When I take the lord’s name in vain they howl?”

“Just so.” She nodded her head and her raven tresses cascaded over her shoulder to cover her breasts. The motion seemed to awaken her to her nakedness. Reaching to the foot of the bed for her shimmy, she tugged it on. “But it does nothing to you when you say it, even though it is disrespectful to do so.”

“Nor you. Why?”

“Our souls remain, Thomas. Of this I am certain. They do not believe it to be so and because of this, for them, it may be truth. They think they are damned and for that, perhaps they are. What do you believe?”

My face hardened into a frown. What was she askin’? “You wantin’ to know if I have faith in God?” I ignored the wails. “Or, if I believe he has forsaken me?”

“One will answer the other, will it not?”

I rolled my eyes. “Why would he?” I had done nothing to bring down the wrath of the Almighty. Sure, fornicatin’ and drinking people’s blood were sins, as was the killin’ I’d done in war. But sins got forgiven… “I ain’t perfect, unless it’s perfect at sinnin’, but my soul ain’t lost. What about you.”

“I too am a perfect sinner, Thomas. Perhaps more perfect than you.” She looked at her hands clasped tightly in her lap then raised her eyes to mine. “My maker found me in a convent in Romania. I was a bride of Christ and he, truly a spawn of Satan.”

She shook her head violently as if to clear an image then thrust out her chin defiantly. “Under his tutelage I did unspeakable things– until the light dawned on my soul. All he had stolen from me was my human life. As a test of my faith I re-entered the sacred ground and found only peace, he followed—and did not. I swore then I would never again be like him. I would not kill, I would not corrupt, and I would keep myself chaste. I did kill if only to ease suffering. I corrupted you to ease my loneliness and to have a kindred spirit to share my existence, even knowing my vow of chastity would be forsaken as well. I broke all my vows and doomed you to a life such as mine. I am a weak vessel but do not ask forgiveness.”

I couldn’t wrap my mind around her words. Was I the one should be asking forgiveness? I’d coupled with a nun! The thought rang through my brain like church bells. Ma must be spinnin’ in her grave. “Why didn’t you say somethin’? Why did you let me…?”

She put a finger to my lips to silence me. “It is the nature of the beast, Thomas. Until you master the change, sex is necessary. As your maker, the responsibility is mine. You are not at fault. It was my choice. You did not ask for this.”

A notion struck me square betwixt my eyes. I remembered the night we had come to Bitter Creek. I seen her watching me from the shadows as I bathed and remembered thinkin’ how like Colleen she was with her dark hair and tiny body. When she brought me food I saw the loneliness in her eyes and felt it mirrored in me. I had no one. She could have let the others have at me, but didn’t. She had saved me, after a fashion. “Why me?”

“I had to bring one over. I wanted another like me.”

“Had to?”

“It is time you knew. You’re seduction was planned by your superiors. Only those housed in the stables and barn were turned. The officers stayed safe within the houses. Your fellows may well be like the others, Thomas.” She waved a hand toward the dark fringe of buildings where the others lurked. “If we can convince them they are not damned, they need not follow orders, we may save them.”

“Wait. Wait! You’re sayin’ the government ordered y’all to make more vampires? But now you’re tellin’ me they don’t have to?” The anger I held since the night I died flamed through me, scorching away the lust which had buried it. My hands found her throat without a thought to drive them. I could snap her neck and toss her head at those lifeless things who stared at me in the dark. She had a choice but had given no quarter! I gazed into her bottomless eyes as my hands tightened and yet she did nothing to defend herself.

Words whispered through my mind. “We were not to save the strong ones.”

My mind returned to that night. I had brought her to my cot, planning to have my way with her but she turned on me. She drained away my blood, my life…

“Drink. Drink or forever die!”

I had seen my Ma and Pa and sweet Colleen waste away and die and my friends shot down in their prime. I didn’t want to die. I drank. The last decision of my life had been to keep at least part of it. My fingers eased on her throat. I swung my legs over the ticking, bent and picked up her dress from the floor then held it out to her. “Cover yourself. We need to talk.”

Don’t miss Chapter Four coming December 3rd!

Learn more about Debbie at her website: Get Bit!

November 1, 2010

Tom’s Story Continued–Chapter Two by Debbie Vaughan

Filed under: Free read — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Tom’s Story is continued from Chapter One, here’s the link just in case you missed the beginning.

“I shan’t call you ‘little one’ again,” she whispered in my ear as she rubbed the warm cloth across my chest, her laughter, light and sweet.

I hadn’t realized how cold I was until she had me stripped and sittin’ in the huge, steaming copper tub, chilled to the bone until the heat from the water seeped in. Everything seemed different. Though night, I had no trouble seein’ the buck on the knoll some yards away. Without strain, I could see his sides risin’ and fallin’ with his breathin’. A little more effort and I could see his veins pulsin’ with blood. See’n things, I was. I placed a hand to my head and found it cool– not feverish. I bucked in the tub when her hand found my privates, sloshing water over the sides and onto her dress, a sharp sound risin’ from my throat. My gaze riveted on her. How had I thought her like Colleen?

“Are you mute?” she inquired with a tilt of her head. Her mischievous smile vanished with my look. She shrugged and would have pulled away, but I clasped her arm above the elbow. She turned to glare. “So, the memory returns. Do you have a name?”

Her fingers curled around my cock and squeezed none too gentle. I could have pushed her away, part of me wantin’ to do just that. But, that weren’t the part doin’ the thinkin’ just then. I held onto her arm, her hand moving freely on me, and studied her face. My head pounded to her rhythm as memory began to come back to me. I should’a wanted her dead for what she done to me. Which was what, exactly? When her other hand joined the first and cupped my balls, I stopped thinkin’, wrapped a hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to mine. With one swift tug and a decent sized splash, she joined me in the tub. Ripping her mouth from mine, she shrieked.

Like two cottonmouths matin’ we twisted round each other, her clothes just suddenly gone, dark hair swirling in the water like something alive. I wanted her like I had never wanted any other, the need to be in her driving me mad. No thought of gentleness, only want. I ate at her mouth and her throat, pushed her leg over the side of the tub and thrust into her. I pounded her body with mine, the water dancin’ in waves around us and couldn’t find what I searched for. The pressure built, ‘til I threw back my head and screamed my torment, a ragged sound coming from the depths of me. My body jolted clear down to my pecker as her teeth pierced my throat. She ground herself against me, buckin’and thrashin’ until her mouth came free and I could feel her insides clutching. I latched onto her breast, biting down hard. With the first taste of cool sweetness, I came, pumping into her as though I would push clean through her. The world narrowed to my throbbing cock and the blood on my tongue.

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October 18, 2010

Tom’s Story by Debbie Vaughan

Filed under: Free read — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Chapter One

2010. I sat in my new office inhaling the scent of leather and suntan oil waiting for the applicant to arrive. What a winding road led me to this place–my newest business venture. You’ve heard the old cliché, just before you die, your entire life passes before your eyes? Well, I can honestly say it’s true. I thrashed and struggled to no avail as slender arms pinned me to the cot, long dark tresses swirled around my face as her mouth latched to my throat drawing out my life’s blood. She was a mere wisp of a thing, yet I was unable to free myself from her embrace. Truth-be-told, in the beginning I hadn’t wanted to. I hadn’t bedded many women in my life and it had been well nigh two years since my last. Even had that not been so, I don’t think I could have resisted. There was something in her eyes…a dark need…that drew me to her and, to my death.


1842. Momma screamed again and I covered my ears against the sound. She was dying. I knew it. Another cry came in the dark, a weak wail growing stronger as he drew nearer. Pa held a my baby sister out for inspection.

“Can ya’ hold her a bit Tommy boy, while I see to yur Ma?” He placed her in my shaking arms and turned, flipping back the quilt dividing the room.

I stared at the tiny red thing wrapped tightly in the blanket. Ma couldn’t have had a boy? The bundle wriggled and I clutched it tighter, fearing to drop her and risk a switchin’. A tiny fist appeared from the folds of cloth, poking at the rosebud of a mouth. I nudged it with my finger and hers latched round mine. I had a baby sister.


We grew wild and free, like the prairie critters, inseparable. By two, Colleen followed me everywhere. At six I had chores to do and she toddled along every step of the way making everything take twice as long to accomplish. I didn’t really mind although I never said, matter-o-fact, I complained and hollered about it most of the time. Everybody ignored me, Colleen most of all. She remained my shadow for years.

Even as more folk settled the grasslands either side the river, most times we kept to ourselves, unless there was a barn raise’n, weddin’, birthin’ or buryn’. Those times called for a party and no one did a party like the Irish. Everyone was invited, including the injuns. We got on peaceably, with our red neighbors. Us kids playin’ with theirs. Mom would’a tanned our hides if’n she knew we skinnydipped in the Miller’s stock pond. Bad ‘nough fer me. Colleen, never to be outdone by a boy, shucked her shimmy and jumped in not known’ how to swim a lick! She sank to the bottom like a sack full’a stone. Took me and Little Eagle both to pull her to the bank. Collie got her first kiss when he breathed air back into her. He got his first black eye when I laid into him. It was one thing to give her air, ‘nother entirely, when he kept his mouth on hers after. That summer I turned fifteen and Collie would have turned twelve in the fall. Would have…

The cholera took Colleen just shy of her twelfth year and Ma and Pa not long after, leave’n me to run things. Not that there was much left by then, between bad weather, the sickness, goldrushers scrapin’ the land bare on the way to California and the starvin’ injuns picking the stock off one by one. With nothing to hold me to the place but sadness, I saddled up and lit out. No interest in gold, I headed east.

I wasn’t a crack shot, but fair to middlin’ when I left the farm, which kept me fed, more or less. When I came upon a homestead or settlement I occasionally found work fer a spell. Years ran slowly, one into another and I became a man in all ways that counted. The widows took more than a passin’ interest, and not just in the chores I could accomplish for them. After a time the wanderlust always took hold and I would drift to the next place.

I wandered through to Kentucky in the spring of 1862, managing to stay out of the way of the war raging all around me, only to wake surrounded by union soldiers, one foggy April morn. Imagine my surprise opening my eyes to a ring of rifles pointed at my head.

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September 29, 2010

Nothing New Under The Sun By Debbie Vaughan

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
Tags: , , ,

t’s true you know? As my website, Get Bit! indicates, I write about vampires. Not just vampires of course, but all the other creatures we associate with them. I write urban fantasy. Am I the first? Heaven’s no! Many, many have gone before and will come after.

People often tell me, “but, all that’s been done.” or “insert famous author’s name here”, writes about those.” To which I reply, “Yes, but mine are different.” There really isn’t anything new under the sun. The trick is to put a new slant on what everyone knows. Will there be similarities between my writing and other authors? Certainly, it’s inevitable. There should be! If you want to read about vampires you expect there to BE vampires, right?

The trick is to present my characters differently than all the rest. I think I have done that. I read a lot, in every genre, but admittedly mostly my own. I am well aware of what is out there. I know agents and editors keep up too. That’s their job. Hopefully when Midnight Sun comes across their desk, they won’t just groan, “Oh no, not another vampire novel!”, but will take the time to read at least part of it. Because then, I’m very sure, you all will get to read it. You want to read about a rich, handsome cowboy turned vampire who owns a tanning salon, about his hilarious gay sidekick, the girl they both grow to love and her dachshund, don’t you?

I think I have built a better mousetrap. Here mousy, mousy. . .

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