By Stephen Windwalker
Editor of Kindle Nation Daily
Editor of Kindle Nation Daily
©Kindle Nation Daily 2010
We’ve featured all kinds of authors in all kinds of genres in our Free Kindle Nation Shorts program, but I can’t think of any who were better suited to catch my attention, your attention, and the attention of all of the citizens of Kindle Nation than Zoe Winters.
For starters, of course, there’s her writing. She has a master storyteller’s sure hand with narrative and dialogue laced with a sense of humor that you might not expect in a trilogy of paranormal romances. Zoe is as committed as any of us to the indie author movement, and frankly it is the talent of authors like her that is going to do more than anything else to advance that worthy cause.
There’s also the fact that she is able to offer our readers a complete novella. I know it can be a little frustrating at times when an author shares the first few chapters of a novel as a Free Kindle Nation Short, and we read through it and kind of end up feeling like we got left high and dry. No chance of that happening here: Zoe’s offering is the complete novella “Kept,” which is the first of the three complete novellas in her volume Blood Lust.
My guess? You’ll feel very satisfied after you read “Kept.”
And then you will want to read the next two novellas, “Claimed” and “Mated.”
Here’s the set-up:
Comprised of three novellas, Blood Lust gives readers a snapshot look at the world of the Preternaturals Series.
KEPT:
Greta’s werecat blood is already sought after to enhance spells and potions, but due to a quirk of her birth, her blood is potent enough to kill for. When her tribe plans to sacrifice her, Greta must ally herself with Dayne, the dangerous local sorcerer, the only person strong enough to protect her.
CLAIMED:
For a vampire, Anthony isn’t a picky eater, but he’s drawn to Charlee’s blood more than any other. One night, high from the potent magical blood of another, he claims his prize and loses control. Ashamed of almost killing the one woman he cares about, he wipes her memory of the event. When Charlee awakens with complete amnesia, Anthony is the only one who can clean up the mess he’s made.
MATED:
Because of the vampiric blood that has run through her veins since birth, Jane has been a target for vampires who resent a human being “kindred.” She’s forced to disguise herself as a vampire groupie to appease them and safeguard her life. When she’s abruptly given to Cole, the leader of the werewolf pack, to satisfy a gambling debt, she discovers the blood running through her veins has a far greater impact on her destiny than she ever imagined.
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to download the anthology of three complete novellas for just $3.49
Three Novellas in One Volume
by Zoe Winters
4.5 out of 5 stars – 20 Reviews
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A Brand New Free Kindle Nation Short:
Zoe Winters’ Novella
Kept
from her collection of three complete novellas,
Blood Lust
Free Kindle Nation Shorts
December 8, 2010
December 8, 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Zoe Winters and reprinted here with her permission.
Chapter One
The old-fashioned bell jingled over the doorway, and a gust of chill wind swept through Lawson’s Bookshoppe. It was July. Greta shivered, knowing who it was even as her eyes remained focused on the counter she was cleaning. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Anthony. We’re closing up early.”
“We? You look quite alone. Where’s your little redheaded friend? What’s her name? Charlotte?” The vampire licked his lips.
“You know very well what her name is.”
She was beginning to regret sending Charlee home early. The other clerk may have been only human, but Anthony Burgess often struck when people were alone and vulnerable. He always seemed amused when Charlee stood up to him, not knowing he could relieve her of her blood in seconds.
Greta focused on the counter as the Formica gave under the pressure of her hand. She met his eyes and tucked a strand of short, dark hair behind her ear, grateful her kind couldn’t be enthralled.
He wore the standard vampire uniform of basic black, his blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail. A long leather coat flowedoutbehind him as he strode toward her. All he needed now was menacing background music. Something dark and brooding.
Anthony removed a paperback from the rack beside the checkout without looking at the title and placed it on the counter. His crystal blue eyes glowed and locked with Greta’s dark brown as he inhaled deeply, not bothering to mask his enjoyment of her scent.
“When are you going to stop teasing me and let me have a taste?“
He stared pointedly at her neck. “Coming up on twenty-eight aren’t you? Special year. Moon’s nearly full.”
Her hand shook as she passed the scanner over the book’s bar code. Therians, known to the mortals as Weres, celebrated their birthday not on the anniversary of their birth, but on the full moon closest to it. Twenty-eight wasn’t a number to inspire ooohs and aaahs among the human set, but for a shapeshifter, the twenty-eighth birthday was bigger than the human twenty-one. It was a good drinking age for vamps, anyway.
She took his money, made the change, and slipped the book into the opaque green shopping bag. Her eyes widened when she glimpsed the title. “You just bought a book on menstruation, Anthony. Were you aware?”
He shrugged and smiled, revealing the barest hint of fang. “I like blood.” He scooped the bag up, gave her one last meaningful look, then drifted out of the store.
Greta locked the door behind him and leaned against the cool wood. She could do with fewer bloodsucking patrons; they’d increased in number since the last full moon. With her birth moon coming up, she might as well have a neon all you can eat sign posted in the window.
It was thirty minutes before she gathered the nerve to venture outside. Most of the lights in the parking lot hadburnedout,and noone had botheredreplacing them.
With only one human employee and few after dark human patrons, it was deemed an unnecessary expense. The residents of Cary Town might not realize what was out there, but they were shy of the dark all the same.
Greta’s boots clicked loudly on the asphalt, making stealth a physical impossibility. She might as well shout to the vamps from a megaphone. Fresh meat, right here. Come and get it boys.
If Anthony or any of his ilk were lurking, they didn’t take the bait. Nothing black-clad or fanged emerged from the shadows. Anthony had gone home, or hunting, or whatever it was he did at night. For all she knew, he hung out at the all-night grocery store scaring stock boys.
When she got home, her orange tabby sat perched on the stoop, waiting to be let in.
“Hello, Mink.” She bent to scratch the kitty behind her ears and went inside, stopping in the hallway where the answering machine light blinked.
“This is your mother. I need to see you. Be discreet.” Click. Jaden was more abrupt than usual. Be discreet. Translation: be in fur. Something was going down at the Lawson estate. She glanced at the hall clock, 9:45, plenty of time for a shower.
It wasn’t until Greta shut off the water that she remembered she hadn’t done laundry. Shit. No towels. She closed her eyes and focused as images flowed over her mind. Milk, mice, open fields, birds, blades of grass, hunting, moon. Her senses heightened as she allowed the memories to bring forth the change. The room shrank and swirled around her. Her spirit jolted from her body, hovered for a moment, then was pulled back into her new compact form.
She stretched all the way down to the pads of her paws, then shook herself and licked her black fur down flat. There was going to be a hairball situation if she didn’t do laundry soon. She hopped onto the pedestal sink, admiring herself in the mirror. She loved fur. It was so slimming.
While She preened, Mink sauntered into the room and hissed. Greta hissed back. The house cat liked the therian fine in her human form but became agitated whenever she shifted. Tough. It was Greta’s apartment. When Mink could turn into a human and get a job, then she’d have a vote. Greta’s poufy black tail curled under Mink’s chin as she drifted past the tabby.
***
Simon’s silver Lexus stood parked like a sentinel in her mother’s driveway. It wasn’t unusual for the tribe leader to be at the Lawson home, but seeing the car after the odd phone message made the hairs on the back of Greta’s neck stand up.
She slipped through the plastic flap in the kitchen door and kept to the corners, slinking under the dilapidated furniture. Her nose twitched, and she began to salivate as she caught the scent of a mouse. She forced herself to ignore it and edged closer to the family room where Simon and her mother spoke in the hushed tones usually reserved for church and funerals.
“We don’t have to do this. Those are the old ways; surely we’re beyond that now.”
Simon allowed his hand to trail over Jaden’s ass. “You knew this was coming. Greta was marked for sacrifice the moment she came into the world in her fur. I told you not to get attached.”
On hearing her name, Greta scooted further under the chair. Therians were born in human form and died in their fur, not the other way around. Everybody knew that.
She’d read legends about therians born in their fur and having extra powers, but she’d always thought they were just stories. Surely she would have noticed if she’d developed more power suddenly.
Was this the emergency the message on the machine had hinted at? She was to be a sacrifice on her birth moon? She shuddered and tried to rein in her emotions so Simon wouldn’t sense her presence.
Her mother’s voice rose, taking on a more desperate tone. “I thought you’d change your mind. I thought if you loved me, you wouldn’t take her. I should have followed my instincts and sent her far from here when she was still a baby.”
Simon laughed. “The border patrol would never have let you cross. They’re loyal to me. We have one shot and I won’t have you ruining it for the tribe, not like her mother tried to.”
She didn’t have time to process the revelation that her mother wasn’t her mother because Simon’s cell phone started pounding out a sappy eighties ballad. How he listened to that shit and maintained an interest in the opposite sex remained one of the tribe’s greatest mysteries.
“I have to take this,” Simon said, retreating to the far end of the room.
Greta followed Jaden to the kitchen and waited while the older woman scribbled something on a slip of paper, rolled it up, and stuck it in Greta’s mouth.
“Did you get all that?”
“Mrraar,” she said around the paper.
“Go to this place. It’s the only person in the city who can keep you safe.”
Simon’s voice grew louder as he approached the kitchen. Before he could see her, Greta leaped off the table and scurried out the cat door.
Humans had been busy the past several decades tearing down walls that trapped people in their homelands. The preternaturals, meanwhile, had been engaged in building them up. Normally it didn’t bother her so much; but now she could palpably feel the invisible cage that kept her locked inside the walls of the city, making her world feel claustrophobic, where before it had been a cocoon of perceived safety.
There was one person she was close to who wasn’t a member of the tribe. She ran three miles, scratched on Charlee’s door, and nearly jumped out of her fur when the dog barked. A redheaded woman mumbled a few warnings to the dog and flipped on the porch light.
Greta tried to look unassuming and adorable. “Mrarrr.”
“Awwww, aren’t you the cutest!”
Score.
Charlee bent to scoop Greta up and shooed the dog out of the house. “Go play, Sammy.”
The Irish setter ignored her, choosing instead to lick Greta as he normally did, not noticing she was a cat now. Charlee’s brows drew up in confusion. She swatted him on his haunches until he ran off down the dirt road, tail wagging.
“Stupid dog. Doesn’t know he’s supposed to hate cats. That could be good news for you, sugar plum.”
Once inside, Greta sprang from her friend’s arms and bolted for the bathroom. She was thankful for the flimsy door as she slammed it shut with the full weight of her feline body. She hopped up on the counter and pressed the push button lock with her paw, then dropped gracefully to the floor.
Charlee jiggled the knob on the other side. “Well, I’ll be damned. Honey, how’d you lock yourself in?”
In. Out. In. Out. Think of something calming. Waves lapping the shore, rolling green meadows. Moments later Greta was curled naked on the floor. She spit the roll of paper out of her mouth.
Printed in Jaden’s cramped script, was an address in Cary Town. And a name. Dayne Wickham.
For a second, Greta couldn’t breathe and thought she might shift back. It had to be a mistake. Jaden couldn’t mean for her to go to him. Dayne Wickham was notorious. He wasn’t just a magic user. He was a sorcerer. People still talked about the night he’d massacred more than half the tribe.
There was a soft knock on the door. “I don’t know how you managed to lock yourself in there, kitty, but I’ve got tools and I’m going to get you out. Okay?”
Greta wrapped a bathrobe around herself and opened the door. Charlee fell back, her eyes wide, tools spread around her in a fan. She must have found a sale. Or else she was dating a contractor.
“So, yeah, I’m a cat and I need to borrow some clothes.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to do the whole transformation all over just to prove it. Surely, cat goes in, human comes out was enough evidence. Especially with no windows or other exits in the bathroom.
Charlee gawked up at her. “What are you?”
“A therian.”
“A whatian?”
Greta sighed and used the term she hated. “Werecat.”
“You can turn into a cat? Seriously? How? Have you always done it? Did you get bitten by another werecat? Do you have other superpowers?”
“Charlee . . . ” she said with as much patience as she could muster.
By this time Charlee had managed to stand and was prowling around her, looking as if there might be an instruction manual printed somewhere on Greta’s body.
“Clothes,” Greta said, trying to bring her friend back to the issue at hand.
“Sure. Clothes. No problem, but show me the werecat thing.” Charlee moved to the bedroom, Greta trailing behind her.
“Listen, I can’t imagine how I would feel if the tables were turned, but I don’t have time for show-and-tell right now. You’ll be safer the less you know. They’ll use a spell to track me, so I need to be somewhere with strong wards. I just need some clothes to last me a few days.”
“Spells are real too? So then . . . witches . . . and . . . “
“Charlee!”
“Oh, right. Sure. Borrow whatever you want; I’ll pack you a bag.”
Greta pulled on a pair of jeans and T-shirt from the floor. Her face scrunched in distaste at the outfits her friend was throwing into the bag. Charlee believed in dressing sexy like it was a religion. It was a little more than Greta personally wanted to show off, but it was better than nudity.
“Are you sure this is all I can do to help? I could go on the lam with you.”
Greta hid a smile. She wished she could take her up on her offer, and for a moment a fantasy of Thelma and Louise-ing it through Cary Town caught her imagination. But Charlee wasn’t prepared to deal with what was out there, and Greta couldn’t protect her.
She watched as her friend tossed some makeup and a couple of trashy romance novels into the bag. Only Charlee would think running for your life was the time to read romance and wear lipstick.
Greta decided she should have told her friend about her double life long ago. If not for the ridiculous loyalty she’d felt for the tribe that now intended to strap her down to a stone altar she probably would have.
Chapter Two
Dayne Wickhamsathunched over his computer. His posture showed his age even as his face and physique refused to. He brushed a clump of dark hair out of his eyes and stared at the twitchy screen in front of him. Technology was a beautiful thing. He’d found a most reliable supplier of were-blood on the Internet.
Theriantype.com had a cross-referencing index matching the correct were-blood type to specific rituals. It was almost enough to make a sorcerer pack all his musty old books into storage and move everything to the computer. Almost.
He’dmet Alistair Cranze on a magic user’s message board. The wizard had recommended the site, and for the past year Dayne hadn’t had any trouble. He couldn’t remember how he’d managed to get by before. Werecat was considered the most magical of all were-blood types. And for this working, even more so.
The mythology claiming a witch’s familiar to be a cat was rooted somewhat in fact. Werecats without a tribe had sought witches, wizards, and occasionally a sorcerer or two. They’d traded blood for shelter for centuries.
Things were different now. These days, Weres in desperate situations and in need of cash donated anonymously to one of the blood banks, and various magic users just orderedwhat they needed from occult shopkeepers or online. It was much cleaner this way.
Weres could be more trouble than they were worth. Most magic users had learned that the hard way, as there seemed to be a certain level of idiotic stubbornness that came with the territory of wielding magic.
Dayne rolled his mouse over the send button and clicked, then leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head. He smiled as the animated GIF wand waved, and purple digital glitter sprinkled over his computer desktop, indicating his order was being processed. The site was on the cheesy side, but a reliable company was a reliable company, cutesy bells and whistles notwithstanding.
That was one thing about the white lighters. You could trust them. They lived their entire lives according to a mission of goodness and honesty. It made Dayne want to hurl, but with few exceptions, they wouldn’t betray you.
He’d just shut down the computer when a rap sounded on the front door. No one knocked on his door anymore. Primarily because he was known as the city’s darkest evil and everyone was too scared to try to overthrow him. The postman had long ago learned the wisdom of quietly leaving packages by the door. Dayne didn’t know what the fuss had been about. The man’s hair had regrown in a mere matter of months.
“Just a moment, please.” Whoever was calling after midnight could only be bringing trouble with them.
For a while, after what was later called the tribal massacre, the lone hero had darkened his door, convinced Dayne was up to something nefarious and had to be taken down. Or another Cary Town villain decided to rise to infamy and needed Dayne out of the way to do it.
He’d eventually managed the right formula on the wards, and most steered clear, deciding it wasn’t worth it. It had been quiet for the past decade. Either the wards were working or he’d been deemed irrelevant. Either way was fine by him.
The wards dropped as Dayne opened the door to reveal a diminutive black cat with bright golden eyes sitting primly on the middle of his front stoop. She blinked up at him full of rehearsed pet store innocence, her tail wrapped around her tiny paws.
“Mrarrr.”
“You must be kidding me. I don’t take in strays.” He slammed the door. Did the werecat think he couldn’t sense the magic crackling around her? Was she that naive? Perhaps a junior wizard still under apprenticeship would have been fooled, but not someone with his level of experience.
He drained the last dregs of coffee from the mug in the microwave. There was a second knock.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He was going to zap the little miscreant halfway across town and let the preternatural border patrol sort out the pieces.
Dayne opened the door this time with a spell ready on his lips, but stopped short. She was breathtaking, not that this was uncommon in a Were. They tended to have a certain magnetism. She had short, dark hair, and she was leggy. A personal weakness of his.
Black leather pants encased her legs as if they’d been stitched onto her. It seemed only magic could have gotten those pants on and would be required to get them off again. A red silky top plunged to reveal ample but not overpowering cleavage. The werecat had a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder and balanced against her hip as if she’d planned to move in.
He held up a hand before little Dayne could cause him to do something colossally stupid. “The wardrobe change doesn’t alter my position, princess.”
“I thought you’d be old,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He gave her points for not stammering that opening line. “What leads you to believe I’m not?”
“I need help.”
Well, she got right down to it, didn’t she? Such a Red Riding Hood. It was intoxicating. In a different mood, with a different species, he might have let her into his lair.
“Not interested. Try the Salvation Army.”
The brunette wedged one high-heeled boot inside the door. “Please. I’ll be killed. The tribe plans to sacrifice me.”
Desperate, frightened eyes.
“And somehow I can’t work up any feeling on that topic. Good-bye now.”
“Wait! You can use my blood.”
Dayne arched a brow. Not quite as naive as she appeared.
“I get my were-blood online. I have no use for you.” In truth, he could think of many uses for her, none of which required the promise of her potent magical blood.
The phone rang, preventing little Dayne from taking over. “If you’ll excuse me.”
***
Appearance-wise, Dayne was nothing like she’d expected. She’d expected an old man with long robes and a beard, dark beady eyes, and a sinister thin mouth. A beak-like nose and long age-gnarled fingers would finish the look. Dayne was none of these things. For one thing, he was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt.
For another, he was hot, debonair even. Except for the evil. Despite the danger he exuded, Greta turned the doorknob and slipped into the cottage. It wasn’t bravery or stupidity that drove her, but desperation.
“Don’t do this to me, Mick. You know I need this blood.” Dayne stood at the other end of the room making a pot of coffee, his back to her. A cordless phone was pressed between his ear and shoulder.
Greta dropped the duffel bag on the floor without a sound and tuned her amplified hearing in to listen to his phone call. The other man’s voice trembled over the phone.
“I . . . I . . . understand that sir, but we have a f-firm policy of only delivering to those who follow our code of ethics and it’s been b-brought to my attention that you . . . don’t.”
“