A Supernatural Diary

Abaddon and Sarah’s Visit

October 11, 2012
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I’d gotten the house in order finally, and my husband had taken my daughter to Chuck E Cheese’s. It’s important to get my daughter out of the house for these visits, because imagine what they’d say if my five (nearly six) year old went to school telling them that a gargoyle couple visited last night?

When the doorbell rang, I was surprised. They usually just show up in the entryway and yell up at me. The coffee was finished and I was ready, so I went down to open the door. There appeared to be no one there, so I stood aside and hoped I’d done it long enough. Then I shut the door.

Almost immediately, my entryway was crowded by the gigantic gargoyle.  I took an involuntary step backwards. When I agreed to this gig, I hadn’t really realized just how huge these men were. It’s one thing to write it, and another to be squashed into a small six-by-eight entryway with one. I’m glad he had his wings in, though. That would have been a disaster. Imagine trying to explain that one to your insurance company, “Oh, well, you see… I had a gargoyle over so I could write his story. He sort of got agitated and ripped out a couple of walls.”

I can hear you laughing, but the fact is, one has done it. They paid to get it fixed, but the contractors looked at me like I was loonyballs. Not so funny when it’s you. We pretended we were having our kitchen redone, but some things just can’t be explained in a way that makes sense to regular people. On the bright side, there’s that quality of disbelief working in my favor. People believe what they want to believe.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and we’re all very grateful for what you’re doing here.”  His voice was deep and rumbled through his chest when he talked. I’m sorry to say, but I was afraid of him.  I’d like to say that this whole thing has made me more open-minded, but I have my own history.  I have a strange love-hate relationship with very big men. I love them. My husband’s six feet, and I’ve dated taller.

But I’m also easily frightened by big men. So there I stood, facing a big guy with black eyes like pits in his gold face. I was scared of him, and I was packed into a tiny space with him. Besides which, I was raised Christian, so I had a visceral fear of the possibility that he wasn’t some other race, but actually a bona-fide demon.

A musical laugh sounded from beside him. “Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s a pussycat.”

My eyes turned towards his wife, and I think I nearly fainted. I’m in my early forties, and I’m starting to look it. I’m having that ‘crisis’ that a lot of women have, so when I looked at her, I felt even worse. She was beyond beautiful, even though intellectually I knew she was older than I am.

I did my best to batten down the insecurity hatches and smiled at her. “You must be Sarah,” I greeted her. “Welcome to my home, both of you.” I managed a tremulous smile for Abaddon, too. Sarah was easy to smile at, because she looked almost human, but Abaddon didn’t look remotely human.

I led them up the stairs, trying not to realize that I’d forgotten to clean the smudges from my daughter off of the hand rail. Why did those idiots that owned the house before paint all of the rails white?

“Please, have a seat,” I invited, gesturing at the table. I’d set it with coffee and pulled out my best plastic table cloth for it.  That’s all we own now that we have a kid.

Sitting down, I got out my notebook. That’s the way I do these, I get the old notebook out and I take notes. Mostly just so that I don’t screw things up like who has what abilities.  I start to get confused after a while, since I don’t get to watch them use most of them, except in my imagination as I write the story.

“You know why we’re here?” Sarah asks, doling out coffee creamer for her and Abaddon.

“Of course.” Yes, I know why. “I’ll be writing your story as fiction.”

She smiled. “We need a historian. Too much of our history has been lost through the ages. If people think it’s fiction, they won’t go out of their way to destroy it or to demonize us. Perhaps one day…” She sighed. “Maybe one day we really will be able to come out to the world, and they won’t murder us because of prejudice.”

“Gay people were once murdered. They’ve survived coming out.” They both look at me, and I realize that I’ve just done what I’m best at… the social gaffe. I try to hide behind my root beer as I dig for a pen. “Sorry.” I find one, to my immense relief. “So let’s get started. I’m afraid I’m not the best at chit chat, and my husband’s not going to be gone all that long.”

Sarah smiled at me. “It’s okay. We were told what to expect.”

Great. My stomach sank to my toes. They had to warn people before they sent them over to my house, just in case I said something stupid. I know it’s true, and I realize that I’m a complete social idiot. But really… couldn’t we all pretend it wasn’t true?

I swallow my pride, “Who would like to start?”

They look at each other, and there’s warmth and love there that I once had in my marriage. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but it isn’t always fawning looks and kisses.  Not that I expected it to be, but I want to be nauseated by their display, even though I’m actually just envious.

“I should start,” Abaddon answers, but Sarah cuts him off.

“Your history goes way too far back. We can bring some of it, but we should really start at when we met.”

At his nod, Sarah began.  As I listened, taking  notes on occasion, I realized that I was going to have to do some serious research. What the hell is “shallow water blackout”? I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to ruin the flow of the story.  I listened for what felt like hours, and I could feel their emotions as they spoke.

It was another amazing experience. When I’d met Desiree and Hamish, it hadn’t been as powerful. They’d both looked like normal humans, nothing like this pair. They sat in my living room like movie characters, laughing and disagreeing as they told me their story. It was surreal.

They didn’t finish that evening, disappearing as my husband’s car doors opened and closed outside. I sat feeling numb, before quickly cleaning up, smiling as my daughter chattered avidly about Chuck E Cheese’s and how much she loved it.  I turned the coffee maker off and helped put her to bed, listening to stories about Barbie and the Popstar and how she couldn’t wait for the movie to come out.

There’s something disorienting about going from a world of gargoyles and werewolves, back to the real world, and realizing that those worlds intertwine more than anyone could ever imagine. If people knew what I know, would everything be different?

“Good night, Mommy,” my daughter told me, wrapping her arms around me. I fought down a wave of fear as I wondered what I might be opening my family up to by being willing to let these strange people into my home and my life.

When I went downstairs and began to write, though, I knew that I had to do it. Their stories need to be told, and we all have plausible deniability.  Gargoyles don’t really exist.

“How’d your meeting go?” my husband asked, believing I’d just had friends over.

“Great,” I told him. “I’m going to write now, I have some great ideas.”

“Okay, cool.” He kissed me on the head, and my heart warmed. It was a glimpse of what had been just a few short years ago.

I sat and stared at the blank OpenOffice document page on my screen. I wanted to run out there and hug my husband, but I didn’t know how. Not really. It’s so much more complicated when it’s your own marriage.

With a sigh, I started writing. As their story poured out onto the page, I realized that this was what I was born for. I love to write, and I knew then that I had a destiny.  I hadn’t really sensed it with the first book, but with this one, as I recognized the epic nature of their lives, I began to understand how our lives were all intertwined.

Fear ran through me. A familiar, old fear. What if I succeeded? Would the crazies come after my family?

The strangest part of all was that I could relate very well to Sarah. She was raised Catholic, and I was raised Seventh Day Adventist. But we were both exorcised to get rid of ‘abilities’ that our parents didn’t approve of. She had never really believed fully, but I had.

We both struggled with the fear that the gargoyles were really demons. Sarah was fortunate because she had a deep personal connection to one, but I’m not so lucky.  I’ve seen all the movies with the people whose eyes get covered in darkness and they turn into evil monsters. I was raised with the basic idea of fallen angels and that ‘demons really ARE real’. It’s hard to shake it off, even after I shook off the religion itself.

The next time that they arrived it was late in the night. My husband lay asleep upstairs, my daughter in her room sleeping.  I pretend insomnia for these late night visits, but they wear me out.

“Shannon?” Sarah prompted me. She had said something that I’d daydreamed right through. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

I’ve always felt that being honest was the best. I haven’t always managed it, but I’ve always believed it. So I told her the truth, “I’m still fighting the conditioning that says gargoyles are demons and tricking me.” I mean, let’s get it all out there, up front, right?

I was surprised when she smiled a sad, understanding smile. I figured she’d be offended. After all, ‘offending people’ is my unwanted middle name.

“I hear you. I wish I could help relieve that fear for you, but I experienced it myself. Maybe it will help if you pretend that you’re imagining it all.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I looked down at my notes. I’d written up to chapter 18 already, so I knew she could relate all too well to what I was experiencing. I looked up at her, and I felt my heart contract. She had suffered so much. I looked then at Abaddon. They both had.

“I’m sorry for what you went through.” I meant it, too. I wanted to give them both a hug. I know that I’ll never be able to do their story true justice, just like I couldn’t quite do it for Hamish and Desiree’s. But I determined right then and there that I was going to try, god damn it.

When they left that evening, I hugged them. They tugged at my heart strings. I hadn’t known them for that long, but when you sit and listen to the raw agony of a person’s story and watch them cry and hold each other, you can’t help it. You start to really understand them.

I’m still battling my Christian past. When they left for the last time, I sat and wondered if I had become an instrument of the Devil. Am I preparing the way for the apocalypse?

Then I shook my head. It’s funny how we can be so totally convinced that we’re worthless, so convinced that we’re just a regular, uninteresting person… and then sit and chew our nails off wondering if we’re an instrument of the Devil. Because you know… I’m just THAT important.

Beyond that, though, I know in my heart and my soul that these are good people. Decent people. They aren’t monsters, they certainly aren’t demons. We’ve accepted the teaching that they are, but that doesn’t make it so.  It’s awful hard in this world of ours to discover the truth, but there’s one thing I believe above and beyond everything else.

The heart knows.

Watching the genuine love between them made me reach out to my husband again.  I don’t believe that, if actual demons exist, they are capable of love. Abaddon and Sarah are obviously deeply in love.  We may hate them, but that doesn’t stop them from forming very human bonds of love with one another. And my heart sings for their joy.

The heart knows.

Anyway, I won a retreat up to Vermont in the end of October. It’s at When Words Count Retreat.  I’ll be there from Oct. 31-Nov. 2. While I’m there, I’ll get to stop in and meet with Thanatos and Alexis.  Their book is in the works. I’ve been told about them, and I’m excited to meet them.

Winning that retreat is excellent cover for my visit to them, too. Funny how things can come together almost perfectly, isn’t it? It will be amazing to see the places I’ve written about first hand. It’s all very exciting… and it’s all fiction, of course. Except I really did win the Retreat in the sweepstakes.

A Gargoyle’s Might: Excerpt [Lincoln’s magic pants]

July 2, 2012
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Lincoln stood a little straighter. Once more he wore human clothes, uncomfortable with his wings put away, but determined to do this ‘dating’ business. The cloth felt strange on his skin. Especially at his crotch. He’d once told Ivory that the skin at the area of his skin ‘pants’ was the same as what was on his penis. That wasn’t actually true. His penis had a lot of nerves in it, while the rest of his skin could be controlled to have nerves or not. He drew the surrounding skin over his penis to protect its sensitivity.

But now he was, for all intents and purposes, naked under the human jeans. And the sensation was a very strange mix of arousing and unpleasant. He found it easy to control his erections with his own skin, but these clothes let it jut out somewhat. It was embarrassing, especially since the cloth kept rubbing with every step he took.

To sum it all up, the human clothes were fondling him, and no matter that his mind knew it was just clothes, his penis didn’t. He stood awkwardly in front of Ivory’s door, shifting and squirming. Should he hold the flowers over it? But then he’d hand them to her and she’d see anyway. Perhaps he should pretend it wasn’t there?

He decided on the last, since it had worked the first time. Or he thought it had. Hadn’t it? He felt his wings tingle with nerves and fought to keep them in. If they came out now, they’d ruin his shirt by ripping through it.

He lifted his hand to knock on the door, then stopped. Perhaps he should put the box of chocolates in front of his crotch? He could have her take the flowers and put them in water, then he could put the chocolates down and sit down. Very quickly.

If he kept his hand there, would it be too obvious? He tried it, putting his hand over it, and realized that it was pretty awkward. It might actually draw attention there. He yanked his hand back.

Perhaps he could change its position? He shook his head with a sigh. He really needed to ask a werewolf how they dealt with this problem. He pulled the waistband of the jeans out a bit from his belly so that he could consider positioning. Perhaps if it was off to one side or the other more–


Startled, he nearly flung the flowers, and did drop the chocolates as he let go of the band of the jeans. “Ivory!” he almost squealed. Trying to calm himself, he said, “I brought you flowers.” He thrust the bouquet at her and bent down to grab the chocolates, alarmed that the whole scene hadn’t made him lose his erection, it had made it worse.

“Is there something down your pants?” she asked, blinking curiously at him.

“No!” Lincoln objected. When her eyebrows rose, he stumbled on, “Well, I mean, yes. But not…” Now she just stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Nothing that doesn’t belong there?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying, or asking?”

“Er…” Lincoln wanted to go out and strip. Immediately. “I’m a little new to wearing human clothes. They take some getting used to.” Granted, that was no real answer, but at least she shrugged and walked off into the kitchen.

Lincoln tried not to obsess about the fact that he hadn’t heard her open the door, instead looking over to see that she was dressed in slacks and a comfortable shirt. Sensible shoes completed her ensemble and he was grateful she’d listened to him.

The Virgin and the Wolf

June 2, 2012
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Hi, I’m Cynthia. I’m a contract kid. That means I’m one of the kids that was born from a contract between a werewolf and a dryad. Such contracts are common, but nobody knows about it outside of our communities. Most girls born from dryad-werewolf unions are dryads. I am not. I’m a plain old human, one of the rare ones. Funny thing to say about a species that tops out over six billion, huh?

Royce is the Alpha of our pack. That means he’s the leader, basically. I met him when I was ten and came to stay with my dad, per the contract between him and mom. Then mom came to stay with us, which was nice. The two of them are crazy for each other, and now I have a dryad sister and seven brothers. My sister went to the dryads as soon as she could and never looked back. I don’t miss her.

My brothers drag me everywhere, and that meant I spent a lot of time around Rayce as the years passed. I think he knows how I feel about him, so he avoids me like the plague. I suppose he couldn’t be any more obvious about how he definitely doesn’t feel about me.

The problem is, one of my brothers is moving into town. He finished police training and he’s off to live by himself and be a cop. Isn’t that great? A werewolf trying to play human. He’s in sooo much trouble.

Back to the move, though. Here’s the thing. Melanie and I are going with the guys. Melanie’s my best friend, of course. Anyway, so we’re going with them because we’ve always wanted to see the city.  Pisqataquana is really big compared to our town, Selton, which is really more of a village than anything. And we’re very unfriendly towards anyone wanting to move here. No houses are ever put on the market. For obvious reasons.

There are wolf fights in the street practically every day. Do I really have to spell it out? Sheesh.

So now we’re helping to load everything into the trailer behind the van. By that, I mean standing around chatting with each other while Darren makes eyes and Melanie and Rayce remembers that I exist only when I get in the way and he has to go around me. Really, really far around me. I don’t have fleas. Unfortunately. I’d like to give him lice.

Or rape him. Something. I can’t decide.

The guys look like they’re finishing up, so Melanie climbs into the back, and naturally Darren jumps in and pushes Tyrin out of the way to sit by her. He sprawls like he’s cool and leaves me to sit in the front row just behind the front seats. Thanks for nothing, Melanie. She could have let me get in first.

To my left is Shaemus. He’s two hundred years old. He’s the oldest of my brothers, and he has a different mom. Well, he had a different mom. She’s dead now, but he’s not very torn up about it. She didn’t care about him, because he was a contract kid, too. Only his mom was a typical dryad bitch. Oh, sorry, bad language.

Who am I kidding, I’m not sorry. I just hope none of my family or friends read this, that’s all. Not like they would, none of them think I can even read and write. I’m the dumb, shy sister. Definitely not cut out to be Alpha with Rayce. So why can’t I quit mooning over him? Seriously, it’s disturbing. I think I’m going to end up being one of those stalkers every guy is so afraid of. Well, not the worst kind. The long-distance kind, not the ‘dig your eyes out in your sleep’ kind. Yikes.

Well, so here I am, bored out of my mind sitting in the van, when Rayce comes up with the TV. It was, apparently, the only thing that didn’t fit into the trailer. He plunks it down in front of me as I scooch back.  In spite of that, his bare arm brushes against my leg, and he looks up at me.

I swear it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. He’s hot. And I don’t mean the sexy kind of hot, because if you haven’t caught on yet that I think he’s sexy hot, then you’re an idiot. Stop reading and go away. No… I mean he’s burning hot to the touch, like he has a fever.

His deep brown eyes are staring into mine, and I swear I’m going to fall out of the seat. I’m not exaggerating, either. Between my legs, I feel my muscles knot up and twitch. That is so distracting, but worse than that, when his nostrils flare, I know he can tell that I practically got off just from the touch of his arm on my leg.

It’s everything I can do to tear my eyes away from his, but I do. Holy shit, he’s beautiful.

“Cindy?” he says, making my treacherous eyes involuntarily glance into his. His voice sounds deeper than usual, gravelly.

“Sorry,” I manage in a whisper. I try to move further away without sitting on top of poor Sheamus.

But then Rayce growls. Now, I’m just a human, but I’ve lived with werewolves or dryads all my life. At twenty, some people consider me just a kid still, and  maybe I am. But I’m not a damned idiot, okay? I know what it means when the Alpha growls. So did everybody in that van, trust me.

Not a one of us made eye contact, and since it was me he was looking at, I tucked my head down deep and curled up as tight into myself as I could get. I tried even harder to back away, real slow and careful, though, because we were still in Selton and I could be in very serious trouble.

“Sheamus, sit in the front,” Rayce growled.

“Yeah, boss,” Sheamus said and vacated his seat as if he’d just been stung by a thousand hornets.

Leaving me alone with a pissed off Alpha that I had somehow managed to touch when I didn’t mean to. Werewolves are kind of like women with really bad PMS, only they’re like that all the time. Completely unpredictable. And of all the werewolves, the least predictable of all is an angry Alpha.

Well, alright, technically I wasn’t alone with him. I get that. But it was just me and him and an empty seat with a van full of scared werwolves who would have all torn me apart right then and there if he’d said to do it. And with gusto. This is serious shit I’m in here, my friend. Real serious. And being shy makes it that much harder as I sit there with my chin on my chest, my heart hammering with terror, and my stupid pussy screaming with joy just because he was actually looking at me. The only time I can ever remember him doing that, as a matter of fact.

Which is so not what I should be thinking about right now. I’ve seen enough wolf displays of submission that I’m about this close to falling on the floor and rolling over. I can’t shift and I have no tail to tuck in, but damn… I kid you not, I’m about to try anyway.

Then the next thing I know, he’s sitting next to me. I scoot over as close to the wall as I can cram myself, the arm of the seat digging into a kidney like a fly into a shit pie. Damn it, I hate life.

“Can I sit beside you?” he asks, his voice normal now.

What the fuck?

I nod, staring out the window. What did he expect me to say, ‘no’? The Alpha asks me if he can sit beside me as if I have an opinion on it. Give me a break.

His thigh comes to rest against mine, and again, I feel that heat. Intense heat that sinks into me like an iceberg calving into the Atlantic. How can one person generate that much heat? I can barely stand it.

When I was ten and saw him for the first time, he was an adult. He’s something like five hundred years old, see. So he looks almost exactly like he did then. Only even then, I was in awe of him. But who the hell isn’t? He’s THE ALPHA, alright? Don’t judge me.

Yeah, well. Then I got hormones and breasticles and crap. And all of a sudden, he wasn’t just the totally amazing Alpha dude anymore. He was the totally amazing Alpha dude with pecs and an ass I was too young to describe but not too young to drool over. I practiced kissing my hand, pretending that it was him. Or training for kissing him, something.

I was young, again… don’t judge me.

Now that I’m older, I can’t stand to see him, because every time I do, I get that sickly sweet ‘oh god oh god oh god’ feeling in my stomach and everything between my legs twitches like a spastic Jack Russel terrier. Now he’s sitting beside me, and I’m facing the greatest humiliation of my entire life.

Because, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m sitting in A GROUP OF WEREWOLVES. And they can smell what’s going on between my legs. Even as Dad pulls out, they start cough-laughing and rolling down windows.


If this writing cuts off all of a sudden, you’ll know why… I died of utter embarrassment.

To make matters worse, his arm slips across the back of the seat behind me, and he makes a little circle on my shoulder with his finger, almost like he hasn’t spent ten years snubbing me.

His voice in my ear is so sudden and so close that I jump, while I try not to melt from the sensation of his breath on my ear, “What you’re feeling is normal and natural. What they’re doing is cruel. Cruelty has a peculiar tendency to come around and bite you on the ass when you least expect it.”

Silence, blessed silence, descended on the van. The only sounds were the wind passing by, the hum of the tires on the ground, and the banging of the trailer as it swayed in the wake of the van. Take that, assholes! Score one for the Alpha.

Yeah, you guessed it. That was an open threat, in wolf-speak. Alpha Rayce had just slapped everybody down.

Now, though, I ask you… what am I supposed to do? I’m sitting here, hornier than a horned toad, beside the man I’m so in love with that I feel like I’m swimming in mud when I see him… but he has always treated me like dog shit on his shoe. He’s all Mr. Nicepants now, sure.


You know as well as I do that he figured out that I’m an easy mark. He can have any woman in Selton if he so much as crooked a finger. Rumors say he doesn’t, but why wouldn’t he? Werewolves are perpetual teenaged boys when it comes to libido. He’ll be a nineteen year old forever, getting an erection if his pants rub him the wrong way or he sees a bit of ankle.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a dryad before, but they make even the Salma Hayeks, Angelina Jolies, and Marilyn Monroes look like doofuses. So the only reason he’d even look at me–not that he does–is because he’s pretty much literally a dog, and anyone who ever owned an uncut male dog can promise you, they’ll fuck anything with–or without–a hole.

I’m not going to be that. Not even for the Alpha. Not even for the sexiest man alive… who happens to be the alpha.

If I keep talking to myself this way, I’ll believe it, I just know it. I swear my hormones are even worse than his. Am I not supposed to peak at thirty or something? Like, when I’m really old? Whatever. If this isn’t my peak, I hope I die young!

But now I can’t keep my mouth shut. If you don’t have anything nice to say… oh, fuckit.

See, that’s my problem. I’m shy, but if I get used to you, just ask Melanie… fo-ged-aboud-it. I can talk your ear off and I’m blunt to the point of rudeness. People always think us shy people are sweet little darlings. Fucking idiots.

I’m really good at saying things in the most abrasive way possible, so I just go ahead and let it loose, “Why are you pretending I exist all of a sudden?” I demand.

Oh yeah. Okay. I’m gonna die. It’s been nice knowin’ ya. I want a pepperoni pizza and a cherry cola every year instead of flowers, k?

His head swings towards me and I brace myself. The fly is back at the shit pie and digging in again. Ouch, fuck.

He’s grinning at me and I realize just how grateful I am right now that the shit pie fly is proverbial. Because otherwise, he could move right into my mouth and set up shop.  I think I just shut it… oh, no, never mind.

“You didn’t feel that?” he asks me. He looks like the wolf that just down the deer and gorged on it. Or the cat that got the canary, if I’m being too cryptic-like for ya.

“What was I supposed to feel?” I ask, because as you’ve noticed so far, I’m not really the brightest bulb in the bunch. If I was, I’d have kept my mouth shut–and that after I fell for a guy I could actually dream of getting.

He gets all serious and touches my face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was looking at me like I’m something precious and special. Look at me, from dog shit on his shoe to princess in the space of a few hours. Lucky me?

His eyes are sad, almost compassionate. That terrifies me. The growling, that scared me. This? This makes me want to scream and run away. Wetting myself optional…

“You’re my mate, Cindy.” Just like that, he drops that on my lap like a stinky lump of Limburger cheese.

“Are you shitting me?” I say, since as we’ve already established, I’m not too bright. “You’ve spent the last ten years acting like I have AIDS or rabies or something, and now you–”

That’s when I realize the van is slowing down. I break off, looking up at Dad, who stops the van. Everyone’s staring at me. Great. Let’s sell tickets while the Alpha rips me limb from limb. Although it’s possible he won’t, since he seems to really believe I’m his mate. Which is the biggest possible deal on the entire planet, by the way. Well, not counting wars, starvation, and dying tigers. Or whatever.  You know what I mean.

Dad turns around and looks at Rayce. “Are you sure?” he asks. The man’s almost in tears, his voice is husky like he’s gonna break down any minute.

“Dad!” I protest. Of course he’s not sure. But I’m not saying that out loud. What if he changes his mind and wants to kill me?

“I’m sure,” Rayce says, his arm tightening around me like a dog with his favorite toy. Pun intended, believe you me.

Melanie squeals from the back seat, bouncing up and down. Dad gets out his cellphone, “Your mother is going to be so proud!” he bleats. Just like a fucking insane sheep, I swear to god.

“I’m not marrying him!” I yell.

“Oh yes you are,” says pretty much everyone in the entire van. Minus me, and the shit pie fly. He’s the only one on my side. Digging into it, really.  Some help that little bastard is. And yes, I know it’s a little strange to be thinking this way right now, but you do realize that this is Rayce we’re talking about here?

I don’t have any idea what to do, but I can’t marry a guy who treated me that way for so long. And he can’t say he didn’t know how I felt, because eeeeeverybody knows and always has. He doesn’t even have an eye patch, much less is he blind. He’d probably be sexy with an eye patch, though.

But I digress. And while I’m digressing about sexy and eye patches, Dad’s telling THE BIGGEST GOSSIP IN TOWN that I’m Rayce’s mate! Dryads are the gossipiest bitches in the world. Did I forget to mention my mom’s a dryad? God, could he Be any more irritating??

Rayce takes to nuzzling against my neck. The asshole’s scent marking me. I can tell he’s shifted enough to bring up the glands and it’s pissing me off. I start pushing on him and he grins as he moves back. It’s too late, and we both know it. Bastard.

The van takes on this atmosphere of celebration, while I feel like a lamb to the slaughter. NOT a comfortable feeling in a van full of wolves, trust me on this one!

There is an up side, though. Rayce won’t let go of me. He’s holding onto me like he means it, and I decide to pretend for the rest of the ride that it actually means something. Something more than just hormones that tell him we’ll like each other. He didn’t like me before, he’s only going to like me now because biology and ‘aura entrainment’ or some shit like that says to. Really, dude? Just… really?

Just because I’m not the brightest bulb doesn’t mean I’m a total burn out. Give me some slack here.

Thank god, we’re finally here. He won’t let me get out on my own. No, he grabs me around the waist and picks me up like I’m a four year old. It would be sexy if I wasn’t mad. I am. Really. I mean it.

Damn it but he’s sexy!

I expect him to go off and help them unload, but he grabs me by the hand and drags me behind Brice’s new house. The next thing I know, I die and go straight to heaven. His tongue is in my mouth and he tastes sweet. I would have though he’d taste a little more savory, but he tastes sweet and his lips are soft, though not sloppy soft.

I’m pushed up against the wall and I think something’s probably digging into my ribs, but I don’t really care. He’s so hot against me, his hand in my hair holding my head angled. He probes into my mouth like he’s searching for something, and whatever it is, I want to give it to him so damned bad.

Those muscles in my pussy? You got it. Six alarms fire down there, and they’re clenching like crazy. If he was inside me right now, I think I’d crush him, my stomach and pussy are knotting up so hard. I realize all of a sudden that I’m humping against him and I’ve got a leg wrapped around his waist.

Please remind me why I’m suppose to push him away and run off. I can’t remember just now, because if he hadn’t already taken me to heaven, he’d be killing me. His hands are everywhere.  He’s touching my ass and pulling on my skirt–why the hell did I wear a skirt today? stupid stupid–and his other one is gripping my breast almost tight enough to hurt.

Oh god, this is crazy-making. I’ve never been with a man before, but my body doesn’t give a god-damn. It knows what to do, so it’s flooding me with lube and rubbing on him like a demented cat. Completely against my will and out of my control, I promise.

Not that I really care anymore because I want him inside me so bad I can’t see straight. I wouldn’t see straight if I opened my eyes. Whatever.

The point being, I want me some Rayce cock and I want it now and I want it bad. I want to feel his skin, that hot, hot skin against mine.

Except that the dude is five hundred years old. Whoa, Nellie. We don’t just have an age gap, honey, we have a generational gap. Or six. Maybe more, since people used to only live until thirty.

Shit, shit, shit. That’s his finger inside my panties. What were we just talking about? I can’t remember. He’s muttering in my ear now and I have to strain to hear it, partly because I can’t think with his finger doing that.  He found my clit right away and he’s torturing me with it while he mutters, over and over, “So wet for me. So hot, so tight.”

This is SO not happening with my Dad and my brothers in the house I’m being fingered against. Is it?

“I’ve wanted you so badly for so long, Cindy,” he rumbles in my ear.

Okay, fancy fingerwork aside, that’s enough. That’s so much more than enough, that crossed a line. It was like throwing cold water on me. Or a barrel of ice.

I jerk away, shoving his hand away. “What? You fucking liar.” Great job, Cynthia. Kill yourself, why don’t you, I think to myself. But that doesn’t mean I shut my mouth. Hell not, not me. Not once I get started.

A whole tirade flooded my brain, but before I could spit it all out at him, he puts his finger on my lips. Shaking his head, he says, “Cindy, I have wanted you for a long time. But…” he runs his hand through his hair, and I notice with a surprising flash of amusement that it’s the one that was… well, you know where. Then it’s not funny cause I realize they’re all going to smell it all the way home. Which is as irritating as it is sexy.

“At first you were just this cute kid with a crush. But then you started to become a woman, and I stopped wanting to find my mate. I started fearing I’d find her. I quit seeing any women at all, Cindy. I couldn’t be with you because I’d hurt you too much if I found my mate and had to leave you for her. For hundreds of years, our pack has waited for my mate. And I didn’t want to find her. Maybe ever. Because if she wasn’t you, I didn’t want her. ” He stops and looks guiltily at me. “I never thought you could be my mate, because you’re so…”

“Omega?” I demand. “Pathetic? Shy?”

“Submissive,” he interjects before I can really get going.

“I’ve never submitted to anybody but you,” I say, pissed off. “Just ask Dad.”

Now he’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.

“Do you submit to me?” he asks me, and suddenly everything seems out of control again. Scary. Exciting. He stalks towards me and I shiver and back away. “Cindy,” he says, and his voice is low and dangerous, “do you submit to me?”

I’m a little bit stupid, and plus I want to prove that I’m brave before I lose control of my bladder and disprove it. “No,” I say.

Big mistake. Really, really big mistake. Because now he looks satisfied. Wickedly satisfied, like he knows perfectly well that I’m lying out my ass.  But he doesn’t chase me down like I expect. He’s a wolf, he’s supposed to be… I dunno, wolfie or something.

Instead, he says, “Suit yourself,” and strolls out of the yard leaving me there with dripping panties and a twitching twat.

That fucking asshole.  You have GOT to be kidding me.

I yank the fence gate open and stomp after him. “Excuse me?” I snap at him. It’s not really as courteous as it sounds, either, cause I said it nasty and mean. And I’m only just getting started, trust me. “You treat me like some kind of vermin for years, ignoring me and avoiding me. You make some lame excuse about how you ACTUALLY liked me the whole time… and you think that just like that, I’ll submit to you? You know what, you can go right on ahead and fuck yourself, because I never will!” I scream the end of the sentence at the top of my lungs, in case he might miss the point otherwise. And because I’m pissed. I really am pissed.

“Well, alright,” he says.

That’s it? That’s all? Fine. I stomp back into the back yard. I’m stomping because he might not really GET just how angry I really am.

And then I hear it.

My Dad’s laugh carries easily over the fence to the back yard. “Welcome to the family, son,” he says, still laughing. I hear him slap Rayce on the back.

“I hate you, you traitorous old bastard!” I yell at Dad.

He just laughs. So do my brothers.

On the up side, I hear Rayce say, “Why did I ever think she was meek?” just before I get out of hearing range. Good, maybe he’s getting the point now.

We head out a few hours later. I’m almost done being mad, though, so that’s good. I can actually get into the car with him without hitting him over the head with a seat belt. I’m finally able to admit that I’m mostly mad at him for the way he’s been for the last few years. And his stupid explanation that actually kind of made sense and was rather romantic. And idiotic.

It’s another two days before I see him. He shows up at the house all dressed up. Which means jeans with no holes and a brand new flannel shirt. I’ve heard no end about him for the last two days, so I’m almost relieved to see him, even if I’m not going to admit it to myself. And I’m definitely not admitting it to you, so don’t smirk at me like that.

I refuse his date so he asks if he can talk to me on the back porch. From the looks on my family’s faces, I’m not getting out of it. I give in with surprisingly good grace, “Fine, what the fuck ever.”

Standing outside, I can’t look at him. If I look at him, I’ll be lost for good. No-going-back-ville. Ya know?

“How long have you known me?”

I look at him like he’s nuts. Bad idea, by the way, because now I’m looking at him and he’s so gorgeous they probably sang ballads about him at some point. “You know.” The hell I’m answering anything he says.

“And how long have you been having these fantasies about submitting to me?”

What the fuck? Seriously? Did he really just ask me that, or have I got so much wax buildup in my ears that I’m hearing echoes.

“Oh, no you didn’t,” I snap at him.

Too late, because I’m looking at him again and he’s so god-damned hot I can’t bear it. My pussy is twitching and clenching again, because damn it if he’s not right. I hate him. I really do. No, seriously. Well, I want to. That counts for something.

Of course, the bastard can smell me. They can probably smell me all the way downtown in this breeze. No fucking privacy.

And now he’s kissing me and I know I was just thinking about something really important. Privacy, or something.

But oh. my. god. He kisses like a drowning man in a pool of water, his tongue lapping and sucking and… this time I’m shoved up against the bannister railing and wearing jeans. Take that, asshole. Take that right the fuck off, right now, before panic sets in!

There has been no man born who is as frustratingly slow as this guy. As I fight to get his clothes off, he fights right back to keep them on. Come on!

“What is wrong with you?” I demand. Or plead. Demand! Definitely demand.

“Yours first,” he growls, guttural and hard.

“Fine,” I pant out. I notice that my voice is thready and desperate and try again. “Get on with it, then.” Because I am not submitting. No damned way.

“You take them off,” he growls back, jerking me against him. Can’t remove my clothes this way, bud!

Here’s how childish I am, even with my pussy screaming at me like a million deranged cats… “You do it, if you want them off so badly.”

Well, my clothes didn’t make it.  He ripped, he tore, he jerked. He didn’t hurt me very badly, though there was pain now and then. I vaguely heard the family leaving through the front in the van. Thank god for what little privacy we could get.

Especially since there’s no damned way that I’m going to be able to get these clothes back on. His magic finger is back, my panties falling down my leg as he shreds them and finds my clit as  unerringly as before. He dips inside me and I hear the whimper I didn’t quite manage to hide. If he noticed, he gives no indication as he turns me around so that I’m facing the post of the bannister.

Some part of me knows I shouldn’t accept this. He’s still dressed and he’s turned me around. It’s not equal, it’s not equitable. I can’t watch his eyes as he cums. I can’t…

Can’t think about anything else as his hand slides in front of me, flicking and dancing across my clit. He’s growling frequently now as my hips twitch and dance to his touch.

“Need you,” he half grunts, half growls.

And that’s the last straw for me. That admission is as close to surrender as he’ll get, and I want so badly to never submit, but the word whispers past my lips anyway, “Now.” I’m not demanding, I’m begging, and we both know it.

To his credit, he doesn’t waste our time being smug. I feel his cock pushing against me and my pussy starts clenching and seeping with renewed vigor. Oh god, I’m about to experience what everyone carries on so much about. And with Rayce.

As he pushes inside me, though, I realize that we have a fundamental problem. He’s way too big. He’s never going to fit. And it hurts. It hurts a fucking lot. My excitement starts to fizzle and I start pulling away, whimpering in pain.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” rasps in my ear. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Cindy,” he groans, his voice sounding pained.

But by the grace of god, he takes pity on me and pulls away. I relax again, regretting the loss as I feel suddenly empty, but grateful that the pain is gone.

It’s not gone for long, through. Oh. my. god. Alright, I’ve read the romance novels, okay. Those bitches, those hateful, monstrous bitches like to write about the heroine being so fucking horny that it doesn’t hurt. But when he just rammed into me full force? It fucking hurt! Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking fuck, IT HURT! Those romance writing whores are a bunch of asshole bitches.

He stands still, muttering over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” And he damned well better fucking be. At last as I catch my breath and stop whimpering in pain, he has the unmitigated gall to start fucking me.

And I’d be mad about it, too. It’s very thoughtless. But it doesn’t feel too bad… it’s still painful, but there’s pleasure underneath the pain. As he strokes in and out of me, that part of me that thought I was broken because it had hurt so bad gives way.

The sound of his hips against mine is a staccato rhythm now, accompanied by a harmony of grunt and moans. I could learn to like this. A whole hell of a lot. His hands on my breasts make me pant, my sweat trickling down my back in the late summer heat.

But finally, his hand slides down the front of my body again and my pussy clenches again with anticipation, making him growl. I think he liked that and I feel rather smug about it. So this time, I do it on purpose and he grunts something that sounds like, “Oh fuck.”

Maybe I am stupid, I recognize my full power as a woman. I’m under him, and submitted to him, and all I have to do to take control is clench up, like this…

That’s when I feel it. I’m pretty sure he’s cumming. Just thinking that he is, that I could make that happen, sends me off to nirvana. My whole body clenches, tightening as pleasure radiates out from where his finger and his cock create a combination of pleasure such as I’ve never felt before.

As we stand there, his cock slowly softening and at last slipping away, I understand the truth that I’ve known deep down since I met him. I’m going to marry this man, and I’m going to have his children. And I’d die before I let anyone else so much as touch me sexually.

His arms around me are surprisingly gentle in the hot air that has grown still and humid. This time, when I feel him rubbing on me, I lean back with pleasure.

I hope everybody in this podunk, sweet little town smells him on me forever, god damn it.

Even you.

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    All posted contents of this blog are © 2012 Shannon Phoenix. All rights reserved.

    This blog is intended for entertainment purposes only, and any resemblance to any persons in any of the stories hereon, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental. These 'diaries' are a work of fiction and are not to be construed as genuine representations of the state of the world, the state of the author, or any other persons, places, or things.