Courtesy Rolls Royce

In lieu of the usual flash fiction challenge, as Chuck is setting up a rather interesting one for next week, here’s a sneak preview at the opening to Cold Streets, sequel to the novella Cold Iron which is available now on Amazon and Barnes & Noble for the e-reader of your preference. Enjoy.

He probably thought he was going to get lucky. What he got was bitten.

Bethany savored the taste of him as she sat beside him in the back of her limo, her hands on his shoulders and her fangs in his neck. He offered no resistance, made no discernible noise. As much as Bethany enjoyed the occasional meal being fully conscious of the razor’s edge between pleasure and pain provided by her bite, she didn’t have the time to make this hapless businessman acquainted with the benefits of her friendship. A little special secretion dulled his senses better than a whole bottle of the cheap whiskey he’d been pounding at the bar. She could taste it in his blood, and as much as she detested bottom shelf swill, there was something deliciously decadent about a bit of sleaze like this.

She didn’t want to kill him. Not that she had any sort of sympathy for this type of corporate human, it would simply be too much of a mess. She slowly drew her fangs out of his skin, flexed her tongue to coax a little more of the sour-tasting saliva into her mouth, and licked his wounds. They closed slowly, leaving him disheveled and disoriented, but physically unharmed. His dizziness and hard-on would fade, but he’d have no specific memory of what she did to him.

She kicked open the slightly ajar door of the limo and pushed him onto the sidewalk. His unfocused eyes tried to fix on her. She blew him a kiss and slammed the door.


The limo took off into the street. Bethany leaned back and sighed. The feeling of warm, live blood moving through her veins never got old. Humans had a saying about sex being like pizza, in that it was very rare for it to be truly bad, and in her mind, Bethany equated feeding to both things. She could eat pizza, even if she got nothing from it, and sex still had some benefits, but neither of them did what fresh blood could for her. Her eyes closed and she languished in the feeling, the vitality, letting it electrify her limbs and invigorate her senses. She loved how the blood made her feel, how it compelled her to fight and fuck and feed even more, how even a sleazy lowlife like that one could make her come alive.

“You have a little on you.”

Her eyes opened and she looked towards the front of the limo. The divider was down between her and the driver, and he’d adjusted the rear view mirror to look at her. She saw his hazel eyes gazing at her, and caught a glimpse of herself. The businessman meal had clumsily unbuttoned most of her blouse, her long red hair was a little disheveled, and splotches of red were showing on her chin and collarbone. She reached for a towel near the miniature bar on one side of the limo, dabbing at the blood until it was gone. She sat back and fixed up her blouse and hair.

“Thank you, Alex.”