My Rishka

I’m going to spend a bit of time writing a bit about someone very special to me. Due to me respecting her privacy, I’m not going

to name her real name, just her nickname from me. I call her Rishka. It’s the Elven word for Beloved. Yes, I gave her a made up word

from my novel as a nickname. Is it cheesy? Yeah, so what? Anyway, about my Rishka. This is gonna sound cliché, but she makes me

happier than I’ve ever been. I laugh easier, and harder than I did before. Hell, she’s inspired me to dream again. I didn’t have the

courage to due to earlier events in my life.

My Rishka is a beautiful woman, inside and out. She’s loving, kind, and giving. She has gorgeous red hair, sparkling hazel eyes,

and a quick smile. When we vidchat, and I happen to say something that gets her curiosity piqued, she sits forward, eyes flashing, and

a faint half-smile on her luscious lips. When we were in person, she had this habit of when she was playfully insulting me, or just

joking with me, she’d bump my shoulder with her own. She’s an absolute delight to be around, and communicate with. We’ve talked

about everything under the sun, and laughed at everything else. This lovely young woman often has me tongue-tied, and causes me

to forget what I had planned to say.

Is it all sweetness and light? Of course not. To be exact, we recently had ourselves a bit of a row, and after we ended our

communication, I decided to get shit faced. However, before I did that, I decided to write her an e-mail telling her how I felt. Here’s a

small part of it:

“I promised you some time ago that no matter what happened between you and I, I’ll be there for you until you said you didn’t wish for me to be. I will keep that promise. I want you to know, I will be there when you’re not strong, with love to shelter you. I want you to know you can lean on me when you need to, and when things are darkest, and dreariest for you, all you’ll have to do is call, and I’ll be there. In the end, when they tell the story of my life, I want them to be able to say, ‘He always kept his promises, and he guided the great author Rishka out of her black despair, into a loving relationship with someone who cherished her always.'”

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you she is a writer, too, huh? Sorry about that. I hope to share some of her awesome work with y’all one

day. Yes, my Rishka is very important to me. I wish I were better with my words so that you could see her as I do. It is my goal to

share her with you as our relationship grows. Maybe one day, she’ll actually say it is okay to use her name. In the meantime, I must

write her another letter to make her smile, and to show her how I feel about the awesomeness that is my Rishka, my Beloved.

Love And In Love.

“I did as you asked, Granddad.”

“How did it, go, my boy?”

“How you thought it would. She’s not in love with me.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her that I was going to try to get her to fall in love with me.”


“She said don’t. Be who I am.”

“Then that’s the end of the relationship. It’s not going to go any further.”

“Cynical much, Granddad?”

“Has she talked about the future with you?”

“Well… no.”

“You see?”

“But she says she’s scared.”

“Let me guess: She doesn’t want to hurt you.”


“As I said, my boy, your relationship with her isn’t going to go any further.”

“But… I’m in love with her.”

“I know. And it’s hard to realize that the one who matters the most to you doesn’t feel the same. Now you can move forward and find someone who would love you the way you love her.”

“I don’t think that will happen.”

“With that attitude, it won’t.”

“What do I do, Granddad?”

“Here, wipe your face. There’s no point in crying over it. I know it hurts, but you can’t force someone to love you.”

“I know. But what should I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to do whatever it takes to win her.”

“How long have you been wooing her again?”

“Almost a year.”

“And you’ve gotten no further than her saying ‘I love you.’ She won’t talk about a future with the two of you because she doesn’t see one with the two of you together.”

“How do you know?”

“Have you talked about the future with her?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“And how did she react?”

“She said it sounded nice.”

“No, how did she sound? Was there any enthusiasm?”

“No, Granddad.”

“Sounds like she told you how she was feeling about the two of you being together.”

“Then why did she tell me that she loved me?”

“Why did she say it in the first place? Did you ever ask her?”

“She said it was something I needed to hear.”

“That’s telling.”

“I’ve been an idiot, huh?”

“Not at all, my boy. You’ve been in love. There’s nothing wrong with taking a risk. It shows you what kind of person you are.”

“I’m not going to put myself out there like this again. It hurts too much.”

“I never took you for a coward, my boy. I thought you were a man.”

“I am, Granddad.”

“A man wouldn’t allow a set back to keep him down.”


“Would he?”

“No, sir.”

“What did you learn from this?”

“I’ve learned to listen to what isn’t said, as well as what is.”

“Very good. Now go wash up. Grandmom has dinner ready.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my boy. It’s what grandfather’s are for.”


Into the Realm: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book I (raw excerpt)

I awoke after my latest battle in a small and dimly lit cell. The air was a miasma of humidity and the purification of stagnant water. I felt sweat rolling slowly down the sides of my face as I sat up, wincing as my movements pulled at clotted blood on my stomach. I was fortunate, for while it was a long wound, maybe seven inches, it was shallow, maybe a quarter of an inch deep. Still, as I had recently found out, it hurt like hell when I moved too quickly. That last demon had been the worst one yet, ugly as sin and great with a spear.

The many battles had caused something within me to open. I found memories flooding back to me, everything that had happened to me since my arrival in the Realm. I felt shame as I remembered how I had treated the half-dragon Warmaster. Angriz had been my friend who had helped me at nearly every turn, and I had turned my back on him after a stupid argument. I hoped he was okay and had re-united with Keeper Dearbhaile.

I looked around, taking stock of my prison. It was faintly illuminated: the light came in from the hallway on the other side of the bars which were just beyond the soles of my boots. Looking behind me, I saw that my head had rested maybe an inch from the back wall. The other wall was within my reach as I lay on the bed which was against the third wall.

I placed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, created suction and popped it flat again. The resulting sound echoed through the place, then faded away. The only other sound was the slow drip of water. I rose from the bed and stepped to the wall of bars which rose vertically to the ceiling. I examined the wall nearest the bars and saw that it was solid stone and mortar like the walls of medieval castles in my world. It was covered in patches of a pale pink moss-like growth. I wasn’t going to get through here.

I banged the side of my fist against one of the bars in frustration and cussed at the resulting pain. Instinctively, I stuck the sore part of my hand in my mouth to comfort it. I tore my hand back out of my mouth and tried to spit out the horrible, yet familiar taste of rust. Why was it familiar, you ask? You know how as a kid, you played with random things, bang your finger, then stick it in your mouth to comfort it? That’s why.

My heart leaped within my chest as excitement rolled through my body. I flipped the bed up against the back wall of my cell and eagerly examined the bars. As I had expected, they were iron and the humidity in the air had caused them to rust. The rust was particularly bad at the base of the bars where they went into the floor. I straightened and, without thinking, kicked one of the bars with the toe of my boot. My leather boot.  Agony exploded up my leg and explored my hip. Have you ever stubbed your toe and, in a fit of pique, kicked the offending object, causing yourself even more harm? I did just that, yet was exceedingly lucky in that I didn’t hurt myself further. Instead, the heel of my foot collided with the decayed metal bar, causing a hollow crunching sound from the bar breaking.

Though my wounded foot demanded my attention with its insistent throbbing, I ignored it in favor of surveying my handy- or rather- footwork. Two of the rusty bars had broken just above the floor. I lay down on my stomach, on the floor, with my arms outstretched, knees bent, feet flat against the back wall and my butt stuck up in the air. I gripped the bars, locked my elbows, and slowly straightened my legs. With loud creaking groans, the bars slowly bent out from the cell.

When I first arrived in the Realm, I wouldn’t have been able to do this. Thanks to nearly two months as a gladiator, I was able to push the bars out far enough to escape my cell. I received long, furrowed scrapes along my back from wriggling through the two foot gap left by the broken bars. I rose, wincing, to my feet and felt a trickle of blood running down my belly. I looked down and saw that my exertions had reopened my wound. I looked around, but didn’t see anything I could use as a bandage. I remembered reading that Army Rangers would utilize moss as a bandage of last resort, so I scrapped the pink moss off the wall with my fingers and packed it into my wound.


Jennifer Steel, Agent of the F.S.I.A (raw update)

The two sat in their favorite café, Peace & A Cup of Joe. It sat next door to an outpatient clinic and an abandoned refrigeration reclamation center. There were two flags with the location’s name dangling from the windows and seating outside for sunny days. The café was located on West Pratt St on the Inner Harbor Side of MLK Blvd. 

On the second floor, Rob sat on a tan couch, with pillows stacked behind him, facing a 50 inch LED television tuned to a muted soccer game. Jennifer sat curled up next to him, his arm around her shoulders, and her feet tucked up under her. She reached up and touched his face, lightly caressing the white square of gauze on his cheek. He glanced down at her with a faint smile on his face. “You did good, Jennifer. With the werewolf, Soul Eater and the first aid. I’m proud of you.”


She returned a small smile of her own. “Of course you are. I’m amazing.”


His eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “That’s my little ego maniac.” She giggled, but before she could respond, the owner of the café brought up their lunch order. Jennifer had ordered The Power Plant, a sandwich with mushrooms, avocado spread, red onions, assorted bell peppers, sun dried tomatoes and field greens. She’d requested a side of fresh tomato slices as well. Rob had went the decidedly less healthy route – according to her – of The MLK sandwich. It consisted of grilled sirloin covered in a savory marinade, topped with cheddar cheese, sautéed red onions and assorted peppers, bacon and dressed with a chipotle aioli sauce. The owner had his name on a tag, but neither needed to read it any longer: they were long time customers of Themar Long’s establishment. The tall owner asked if there was anything else he could get for them. Jennifer smiled and shook her head. “No, Mr. Long, I think that will be all for now. Thank you, sir,” Rob said.


“All right,” Mr. Long said in his melodious voice. He then went through the door at the top of the steps and back downstairs.


She waited until Rob had taken a bite of his sandwich and stole one of his chips. He responded by gently poking her in her ribs. Hitting this ticklish spot caused her to giggle and spray partially chewed chip on her plate. “You asshole.”


He chuckled and took a swig of his soda. She poked his ribs, hoping for the same reaction. He swallowed and groaned instead, reminding her too late of his bruised side. “Oh, shit, Worth! I’m sorry! I forgot!”


Rob chuckled through the pain. “Gee, thanks. I love you, too,” he said dryly.


“Shut up,” she said.


She tugged on his chin until he locked his dark eyes on her lighter ones, then she kissed him. After several seconds, she pulled back with a smile. When he made to kiss her again, she held him back with her hand on his chest. She noted that he didn’t lean too much into her. “Now you should feel no pain.”


“A second not kissing you is like a year without rain,” he said, misquoting a Selena Gomez song.


She rolled her eyes. “Now I have to take your man card.”


He laughed and pulled Jennifer to her feet. “It’s in a pocket at the back of my neck.”


She wrapped her arms around his neck. Rob dipped his head to kiss her again when someone came through the door at the top of the stairs. “Aw. Isn’t this cute,” a deep, raspy voice said, causing Jennifer to turn away in embarrassment. Rob glared over at the interloper. Jennifer titled her head to see who he was giving such a dirty look to.


He was a rangy, ruggedly handsome guy with dark chocolate eyes and a huge grin. He had shoulder length, whiskey colored hair and a well-kept Vandyke. He was dressed in a black leather duster, scarlet dress shirt, ebony Lagna Beach jeans and onyx Lucchese 1883 cowboy boots. This outfit was topped off with a dangling silver skeleton earing in his left ear and a platinum necklace with a stylized wolf pendant.

Into The Realm: The Chronicles of Carter Blake (raw Update)

The Gorauch approached at a shambling run. The way his limbs flopped about, as if not under his control, caused a knot to form in my belly, pushing out the urge to scratch. My heart kicked into overdrive as I locked onto his approach. I threw a glance over my shoulder to my Rishka. Seeing she was safe, though intent on the approach of the white-haired Elven, I turned back. I raised my sword while I did so.

“Carter?” Lady Orwen said. My name was the signal Wen waited for. He launched himself into a sprint directly at me, eyes ablaze. “He’s possessed!”

“Wen!” His brother shouted. Time slowed around me. I moved to intercept him. “No, Carter. He’s my brother!”

Corath’s voice sounded like an old seventy-eight record played at thirty-three and a third rotations per minute. The controlled Elven’s steps slowed as if he were running through molasses, then halted. I broke into a run, and raced passed Wen. As I did, I caught whiff of decayed vanilla: a L’Arc demon had him. I hoped what I learned about possession during game sessions was accurate and the demon’s body would be nearby. ‘Kill the body, kill the possessor.’

I found the L’Arc standing at the edge of a wall, staring at Wen’s back. This one was different from the others. Its shoulders were broader and it wore blackened gold plate mail. The others were stunningly beautiful, statuesque and nude women with flawless milky skin, raven hair, large bat wings that unfurled from their shoulders and slender black tails. This one had scars over its face, eagle wings and stubble over its jaw. This one must have been one of the males. ‘Wow. Belial, or his dad, are sexist bastards. They have the females running around naked, yet they cover the males in heavy armor.’ Not that I wanted to see this demon without clothes. Time resumed its movement. The demon registered my presence, eyes wide. As its mouth dropped open, I ran it through with my sword.

“Carter!” I spun around at Dearbhaile’s scream. The others were under attack. I raced back to my friends. Halfway there, a rush of wings caused me to halt. The sky was blotted out by the shadows of about twenty L’Arc demons. I didn’t wait for them to land before scything into them. Stupid demons.

I heard my love scream again. I looked over. A large, muscular humanoid with greenish-black skin stretched tight over its frame had her neck in an immense clawed hand. It flipped it’s middle claw in the air, then vanished with a boom. I howled my rage to the heavens. A crimson fog descended over my eyes. I slashed, and chopped, sliced and hacked at any demon that was near me. I stopped when I saw Corath’s brother before me.

“Greetings, Carter Blake.” Wen’s mouth was moving, but I recognized that hoarse, graveled and sweet voice. It was Belial. Now I knew who had my love. “I have your woman. If you want to see her again, come to the former tower of Wizard Cora.”

Interview with Teagan, Pt II

Yesterday, I posted the first part of an interview I had with the intriguing Teagan, who happens to be a vampire. We’re sitting in a pub in London, England. Why London, and not Devonshire, Liverpool, or even Birmingham, you ask? Simple. It’s close to Heathrow. If you didn’t click to read, I learned how she’d been turned, but not why; that vampires have laws with pretty harsh punishments, her maker was a slacker, and she had a secret lover. Here’s the rest of our little chat.


RwF: He’s the only one that can reproduce? Why are the others sterile?

I slide her an extra bloody Mary drink.
How did you nearly get him killed by the Assembly? Did you mind control him into attacking them?
Teagan: Thanks, love, but I drink only red wine…I stay away from hard liquor, it fucks my head up.
He’s the only one that can produce others of their kind, yes. I nearly got him killed because The Assembly wanted to execute him for his crimes as well. All of the non-humans have the ‘non-disclosure‘ rule by all accounts.
RwF: That’s harsh. Does that rule apply to non-humans from other worlds?

How can he reproduce? Is it the normal way (sexually, or asexually), or is it via supernatural means, like the way vampires are made?
I lift my pint of cider to my lips and sip. Due to rumors, I was expecting it to be harsh, but it actually tasted like very ripe apples. The burn didn’t come until I set the tankard down.
T: I don’t know if there is anything other than them, I stumbled upon Marc by accident. Well I smelt him, his scent was amazing.
She rolls her eyes, and hunches her shoulders with the pleasurable memory.
He has to have sex with a woman, another one of his kind. Only the first-born sons and daughters from each family can re-produce…and only if they mate together.
RwF: Only the first-borns can reproduce? Wow. There must be millions of them. What do they eat?
T: My man….if I can call him that…likes, er, pasta? He’s Italian.
RwF: Likes pasta? Why am I finding that hard to believe? Okay. I’ll leave that alone.

What does he look like?
T: He really does like pasta. He was cooking it once when I was at his house. What does he look like?
A smile crosses her features. It makes her face light up, and takes ten years off. She must have been really stressed.
He looks like a dream. He’s 6’3 with thick, dark brown hair, and delicious muscles. His eyes seem to change colour from golden brown to liquid gold. It’s easy to lose yourself in them. His good looks weren’t what I first noticed, but his scent. I’d never smelled anything so intoxicating. Like lilies, sweet freshly cut grass and baking bread all combined. smelling him was like walking in the sunshine to me. Sorry, I’m going on.
I grin. The love is evident in her shining eyes and the way she rubs her arms, as if she were caressing him.
RwF: You’re in love. Has that happened to you before?
T: I’ve never been romantically in love before. Ever.
That’s curious. In 150 years, she’s never fallen in love? I wonder why.
RwF: Ah. Will you turn him?
T: Hhhmmm, good question. I don’t know if I can or not? He doesn’t forget when I bite him like humans do, so I don’t think that my venom works the same way.
RwF: And on that note, I thank you for your time, Miss Teagan. It’s been a delight.
I watch as the lady sashays out of the pub and sip my drink in contemplative silence for a few minutes. I signal for another, and when it is brought, a shadowy figure comes over.
Are you satisfied, Thomas?
Thomas: I am. Here’s your payment. Keep in touch.
I count the money. When I look up again, he is gone.


An Interview With Teagan (a vampire)

On a recent trip to the UK, I sat in a pub called the Red Lion. It was a pretty cool evening, around 65 degrees. I’d just placed my pint of cider (an alcoholic drink made from apples) on the table near me, and took off my jacket, when I noticed a young woman enter. She was about 5’4″, or maybe 5’5″. Long, red hair shimmered in the dim light. She’s very curvy and her ample bosom stretched her white vest so much I wondered how the buttons stayed on. Black jeans looked to be painted on. I didn’t look to see what kind of footwear she had. She introduced herself as Teagan, no last name. She had a bit of a Dublin accent.  I waited until she sat, then took my seat. She was the young vampire I’d get to interview.

RwF: Do you remember when you were turned?

Teagan: I remember parts of being turned. I was slipping in and out of consciousness at the time. I was going to die anyway, so I was happy to be given a second chance.

I sat forward, intrigued. She sat forward also. The light hit her face, revealing unusual blue eyes. I’d say cyan, or maybe electric blue.

RwF: You were going to die anyway? What do you mean?

T: I was dying in a backstreet in Dublin. My maker Thomas had been admiring me from afar. He saved my life by turning me into a vampire.

RwF: What happened? Were you attacked? Or was something else killing you?

T: It’s something I can’t talk about..I just can’t. It brings back to many memories from my human life that I’d rather not discuss.

RwF: Fair enough. Another question:  How accurate has Hollywood been with vampires? Are your strengths & weaknesses like what’s in the movies?

She giggles. It’s a melodious sound.

T: My senses- smell and vision are increased. I can move very quickly and I’m very strong. The stake through the heart stuff is bullshit, though. There are only two things that can kill vampires, but I’d be stupid to share that information.

RwF: What about the hypnosis; shape shifting; weaknesses to silver, sunlight, garlic & holy items? Are they real?

T: No, I can’t hypnotise anyone. My venom converts in a humans blood stream causing the victim to forget that I bit them. I can’t go out in the sun at all, we all have an allergy to the sun. Garlic, holy items…all rubbish, they do us no harm. Drinking a humans blood essentially makes my body work like a humans, blood runs through my veins, my heart beats. Without enough blood in my system my senses become diminished and I take longer to heal. I heal extremely quickly normally. Eventually, without feeding my insides dry out leaving me unable to function.

RwF: You have venom? That’s a new one.

I sit up.

Is it secreted through your saliva, or is it injected? Also, how toxic is it? I mean, it’s called “venom” for a reason, right?

I lean forward, hand on my chin.

T: It’s injected. It’s pretty harmless when given in small doses. Only when a human receives bites all over their body would it become harmful, well depending on how you look at it…that’s how you ‘make’ a vampire.

She leans back in her chair, and flips her hair back over her shoulder.

RwF: It’s not through the exchange of blood?

I scratch the back of my head.

Hunh. Interesting. How long have you been a vampire?

T: 150 years. I was 22 when I was turned. It is actually deemed against the laws of our kind to turn someone under the age of 21.

I perk up and slide to the edge of the chair.

RwF: Your kind has laws? Cool. Would you share some of them?

A scowl mars her pretty face.

T: Some of them are fucking ridiculous. One of them prevents those who are aware of other non-humans from discussing their existence. However, that means that the majority of us aren’t aware that they’re even around. Yet, we are also prevented from mixing with other non humans…yes, that’s right, the ones we don’t know about! Go figure! I’m not fully up to date on the laws. I only just found out we had anyone in authority at all, they call themselves The Assembly. My maker just explained that vampires under 21 mustn’t be made…something apparently to do with adolescent hormones, I think?

RwF: Your maker seems to have slacked off with properly educating you. Tsk. Would you tell us about him/her?

T: Yes he was slack, or so I’m beginning to learn. He’s always been overprotective. In the beginning I went along with it, just grateful that he saved me. But, after a while it got old. I like to think of myself as strong and independent. I can protect myself.

His name is Thomas Lewis. He’s a stiff uptight Englishman. He whisked me away to America not long after he made me, I embraced America, my accent gradually changed and I liked it there. Thomas has always and I suspect will always be the way he is. He was made at the age of 45 in 1670, so he’s like 343 years old. His maker left him right after he was made, I think it left an impression on him, made him moody and distant. Vampires don’t like to live alone, so he traveled around looking for others of his kind until he found the right time to make someone to settle down with.
RwF: Vampires are social animals. Who’da thunk it? Well, the social aspect brings me to another question I had. Earlier, you mentioned other non-humans. What manner of non-humans are out there? Have you met any?
T: Duh…I told you! It’s against the law for me to discuss them. Tsk. I’m in enough deep water as it is!
She gives me a dirty look. 
RwF: I won’t tell. Will you trust me?
T: I can’t. Look, I don’t care what happens to me, but it’s for the protection of the only man I’ve ever loved. His family hate me as it is. Damn his father even tried to kill me. I don’t know what I can and can’t say or do anymore.
She folds her arms protectively over her chest.
God! I need a fucking drink. Should interviews really be this stressful?
She looks around for the bartender, but she’s busy with a late rush.


Wow. His family hates you? What did you do? Or is it like a Montague/Capulet thing?
I stand to head to the bar.
How about a Bloody Mary, extra bloody?
T: Actually, I can and do drink alcohol, though I need to make sure I don’t get drunk….it would send me a bit, well, nuts!
She smiles.
I don’t think it’s a Romeo and Juliet thing. I think it’s down to the fact that he’s valuable to his kind, because he’s the only one of their children that can re-produce and I almost got him killed by The Assembly. I suppose they don’t want their son to be with a vampire that can’t produce heir’s for them either? Who knows….this is just what I figure.
I walk over to the bar, and order an extra bloody Bloody Mary. The bartender flashes a smile my way, revealing long canines. I quirk my eyebrow, receive the drink and head back to Teagan.
-To Be Continued-
Tomorrow, I will continue the interview with my friend LT Kelly’s character, Teagan.


A Conversation Between Carter Blake & Lucas Rumpff

I wonder how much hate this is gonna net me? Not too much I hope. It’s a work of fiction, after all. Oh well.

“Have you heard of Jesus Christ?” He slapped his forehead. “Of course you have. What am I thinking?” He gave me a wry smile. “Anyway, I’m directly descended from Him.” Lucas nodded. “Yep. That’s where I get my abilities from.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How can one alleged to be so pure spawn one such as you?”

“That’s the key word, isn’t it? Alleged. You see, just like any other demigod, Jesus wasn’t predisposed to good, or evil. Hell, he was a huge disappointment to his father.” He laughed at my quirked eyebrow. “Yeah, Yahweh wasn’t too pleased with the way His Son was preaching about love, peace, and tolerance. What? You think in thirty-three years, a deity would cease being a douche? Fuck no. As a matter of fact, Jesus was supposed to be more like his older brother, Moses.”

“Wait a minute.” I rubbed the back of my head. “I though Moses was supposed to have lived long before Jesus.”

“He did. Mary of the House of David wasn’t the only mortal Yahweh knocked up. He also fathered Moses and a few others. Yahweh impregnated mortal women for both sport, and for prophets. Seems he was more like Zeus than he would have admitted.” Lucas chortled.

“So, if Jesus wasn’t supposed to be teaching the whole peace love and hugs spiel, what was He supposed to preach?” I said.

“This is rich. He was supposed to be scaring folks straight. Kind of like Moses tried before the Exodus. He did a pretty good job of it, too. Earned Himself a gorgeous redhead of a wife. You may have heard of her. Mary Magdalene?”

“Yeah. The one Christians largely condemn as a whore.”

“Paul was a dick for that. But, jealousy does weird things to people. The real downfall of Jesus came when he met Judas.”

I remembered this tale from when I went to Sunday school. “He betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.”

Lucas shook his head. “Nope. That’s Mary Magdalene’s lie.”

That knocked me for a loop. “What?”

“She framed Judas.”

“Why the hell would she do that? Wait, wouldn’t that also mean she betrayed Jesus?” He nodded. “Why would she do that?”

“As I said: ‘Jealousy does weird things to people.’”

“Why was she jealous of Judas?”

“Her husband forsook her for him. Soon after Jesus met Judas, they fell in love.”

“Wait. You’re telling me Jesus was gay?”

“Bisexual, actually. He fathered two children with Mary. And, He did love her. Judas just captured His heart.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Judas got Jesus to preach the peace, love, and tolerance.”

“Very good, Carter.”

I rolled my eyes so hard, I nearly knocked myself out. As it was, I got a killer headache. “As fascinating as all this is, what the hell does it have to do with us?”

I Found A Cool New Book On Sale

It’s called Bella Notte and it’s the first book in the Bella Vampires Series. You can buy it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kubo from now until the 11th of this month at $.99. That’s down 94%.

BellaNotte Cover

Vampires? Check. Werewolves? Check. Death prophecy to hang over your head? Double check. Seventeen year old Emma Hutchinson struggles to find her place in the world she has been born to as she tries to decide whether she should be with Michael, the boy she has been dreaming about since she was three or if she belongs with Dominic, her betrothed.

To whet your appetite for this awesome title, here’s an excerpt:

The sky was growing dark crimson over the clearing in the forest behind our house as I drifted across the glen toward the edge of the trees. I walked as if I knew exactly what it was I was looking for, and where I was going to find it as well.

A small crackling noise caused me to stop halfway across the field. I turned to look in the direction the sound came from- that’s when I saw him.

Those dark green eyes and his dark auburn spikes were so familiar after seeing them for the past fourteen years, that it was always a relief to see him.

He walked towards me, and stopped at my side. The dry winter grass beneath our feet was barely audible as we took a step forward, lacing our fingers together.

The sky was no longer crimson, but had transformed into a deep indigo and a slight breeze had picked up. The hairs on my arms rose as the chill in the air assaulted my body. I moved closer to him out of instinct. His body temperature seemed to be so much higher than mine that just being near him kept me warm, strangely from the inside out. The moon had risen. The color was a frightening shade of blood red and the wind strewn clouds blew across the face of the cratered orb. He held suddenly, very still, as the breeze brought scents from across the clearing. With his eyes closed, he breathed in deeply. Those dark emeralds popped back into view and carried the fear that the grimace on his face displayed.

That’s when we heard it- the howl. The sound was terrifying, like a large wolf. Somehow, inside, I knew it wasn’t a wolf, at least not in the conventional sense, and that scared me more than anything. My body froze and my mind blanked with fear. I watched his grimace change to a visible snarl and those beautiful green eyes flash a dangerous shade of ruby. The next thing I knew, he was pushing me out of the field and into the cover of the trees.

I wanted to plead to him, but no words would form with my dry tongue sticking to every ridge in my mouth.

He grabbed hold of me and whispered “run” very softly into my ear- then he was gone. It took me a minute to get over the shock, but then my feet moved as quickly as possible.

I could not escape the sound of his scream as the forest closed its arms around me.

I knew it was a dream, not any dream but the dream. The dream I’ve had since I was a little girl. Every scene was memorized from beginning to end, and I again knew the sting of the silent tears that cascaded down my hot, flushed cheeks.

About the Author:AuthorPicKimmelFreeman

Jesse now lives in a small town in the middle of nowhere. She moved from the chaos of Los Angeles. Yes, she misses it. It is not uncommon for her to be asked why she moved from such a busy place to the one horse town- the answer is simply to allow her kids to grow up closer to their grandparents.

Jesse has studied anthropology and used her “education” as an excuse to hang out with vampires- her masters’ thesis was going to be modern vampire culture. They really do exist. Vampires have been her obsession since she was about five years old when she swears she was bitten by one.

She enjoys reading and writing. But most importantly being a crazy mom to her son, new daughter, and ever growing pet family. Singing silly songs at the top of her lungs and embarrassing her son is one of her favorite activities. She considers herself to be an odd duck.

Check out her wonderful website: