Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
She got up, scratching her head and rubbing her arms. She felt tingly all over, and her skin was supersensitive.
“Maxton?” She checked the bathroom, living room, and kitchen. He wasn’t here? Was this some sort of joke?
She sniffed the air, following the scent of fresh evil human, which led her to the closet door. She opened it and found Stewart standing there, still looking like a zombie.
Pinned to his shirt was a note:
MF, I saw an urgent message from Damien on your shiny rectangle, asking for your help. You were not ready to wake, so I have gone to assist him. I left you this large snack. Please be sure to save me a bite. I will return shortly. —Maxton
MF looked at the note again. She then went to the living room and grabbed her phone. Yep, there was an urgent text from Damien, saying to come to his house right away.
“Something’s not right.” Damien never signed off on his texts. And he certainly didn’t do it with the name “D-Dawg.”
She looked back toward the closet, her scorched throat screaming for relief. She needed to drink. “No, Maxton needs me more.”
She quickly dressed in her black leather pants, biker boots, and leather jacket. She grabbed her keys and bolted to her car, hitting the road like a bat out of hell. But, obviously, not a bat. A brand-spanking-new vampire with a bloodlust that could quickly turn into a crime scene if she didn’t hurry.
MF pulled up to Damien’s two-story mansion, which looked like a war zone with smoke, flashing lights, and water cannons. Police, several ambulances, and firetrucks circled the place. People were running away, screaming as fireballs launched from the upstairs windows, hitting the street.
“Mother of all the fucks. What’s going on?” MF pulled over and got out.
Boom!
Boom!
Cruuunch!
It sounded like someone was inside Damien’s house, lobbing grenades and crushing walls. Emergency crews were taking cover behind their vehicles.
“Ma’am, you need to get in your car and go,” said an officer. “There is a terrorist cell inside. The bomb squad is on the way.”
“The guy makes suits. There aren’t any terrorists in there.” Unless you count the otherworldly creatures who may or may not be from hell.
“Ma’am, I said turn around and go.”
MF was about to drive away and find a side street to park on so she could sneak around back, but then she remembered something. I’m a fucking vampire! Woo-hoo!
“Hey, sir?” MF said. “I think there’s a piece of shrapnel in my eye. Can you take a look?”
He leaned in, squinting at her face.
She resisted the urge to chomp on him, but luckily, he smelled bad—as in, he was good. Not so tasty.
“Hello, nice man,” she said, hypnotizing him with her eyes. “You are going to walk me to that house. Tell everyone I’m here from…TPD, the Terrorist Peace Department.” Sounded like it could be a thing, right? The government had all sorts of cash-sucking useless departments these days. “Nod if you understand.”
He nodded.
“Great! Let’s go.” She marched toward the front of Damien’s modern-day palace with a breathtaking view of the glittering cityscape below. Once she got to the porch, she sent the officer away and put her hair up in a bun to protect it from the flames inside.
She leaned through the busted doorjamb. “Hello?” Where the hell were Maxton and Damien? Where was the posse? “Bonbon! Gorg! Pet! Are you here?”
Pet appeared drenched in sweat. “MF! You look very sexy as a vampire. May I stroke your fangs?”
“Pet, what the hell is happening?” MF pointed at the ball of fire just off the foyer.
“Oh, that. Cimil accidentally let a rage demon loose. She was supposed to put it in a new body, but it got away. Maxton is fighting it now. Not winning, by the way.”
MF should’ve known this had something to do with Cimil. That goddess was out of control!
“Um, sorry. But what the hell is a rage demon? Never mind.” Maybe it was better just to go and find out for herself. Probably not the brightest idea, given the state of the home, but Maxton was in here. She couldn’t lose him now!
MF entered the living room, which was demolished—every piece of furniture overturned and in flames, walls caved in, and parts of the ceiling missing, exposing the upstairs rooms. “Jesus.”
“Back it into that corner!” a man yelled from somewhere in the house.
“Don’t let him get away this time!” Maxton roared.
“We can’t let him leave!” yelled another guy.
“You come for the fun?” said a sharp female voice behind MF.
She turned her head to find Willa standing amongst the rubble near the kitchen, sipping a martini.
“What are you doing here?” MF asked.
“Waiting.”
“For?” MF asked.
“To finish my drink. Obviously. Duh…”
MF so wanted to snack on this bitch, but Willa wasn’t hers to end. That was—hopefully—Damien’s job. “I don’t know what he sees in you, but you’re definitely a waste of power.”