Content Warning

Greetings and Salutations.
Because my stories have bite, they can contain content that isn't suitable for work or children. Not a lot of truly graphic sex or violence, but there are some questionable or heated posts. F-bombs are not uncommon, so watch your footing.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Getting into the editing

I know, I've said that I'm editing Saint Valentine's Clash for a while now.  But I'm serious.  I'm working on it right now.

Just to prove it, here's an excerpt:

"Liebchen, relax."

 I sighed at the familiar voice, and panic fled, taking darkness and pain with it.  I opened my eyes to another dream, this one immensely better.  I lounged on a velvet divan, dressed in a silk and fur robe, one leg bent and raised.  A fire roared in a massive hearth, smelling of pine.  Candles dotted the walls, tiny sparks in the darkness.

 Standing before the fire, dressed in leather and mail, hair braided back from his face and full of bones, stood the vampire.  Varick looked over his shoulder, eyes cutting across the distance, boring into my soul, sparking fires deep inside.  I bit my lip, absorbed entirely by this dream, the German dreaming with me.

 He turned fully to me, resting a long sword on a side table, removing his gloves.  I sat up, the robe parting across pale breasts, my hair curling around my face.  I licked my lips slowly, unable to look away from the feral man before me.  The scent of blood and smoke and death filled the air, along with his ozone musk of predator.  My heart rate jumped, instantly aroused.

Varick threw his gloves aside, growling underneath his breath, eyes possessively locked on my neck.  "I was not expecting you so soon, mein liebchen."  Clawed hands rose to the lacings on his armor, working them loose.  His growl continued, wrapping around my soul, seeping into my heart.  I finally noticed the blood staining him, and I squirmed as my arousal rose.  "I had thought my Valkyrie would still be on her quest."  His shirt parted, pale torso exposed to my lusting eyes.

Even in a dream, the sight of his milky scars caused my throat to clench.  His voice rattling through his chest made every nerve ache, made heat race from my center.  I loved his growl.  "Every hunter needs a break," I whispered, drawing back from the vampire.  He stalked closer like a conqueror coming for his prize.  Me.

Varick loomed over the divan, nostrils flaring as he scented my fear and arousal.  "Or is it that she has not been properly hunted?"  His claws flexed, and I trembled, knowing he was going to pounce on me.  Wanting him to pounce on me.

I shuddered, laying my head on the cushions, my heart racing.  The vampire's sapphire eyes traced the curves of my thighs, his mouth parting ever so slightly.  "And am I suitable prey, my hunter?"

"Always," he growled, falling upon me.  Our mouths met, tongues wrestling against each other.  His claws raked through my hair, grabbing a fist full at the base of my skull.  I cried out as he wrenched my head back, his mouth seeking the pulse in my neck.  I writhed beneath him, sliding my hands up his back, caressing his scars.  My legs locked around his leather-clad hips, holding him close to me.

 I pressed my neck against his fangs, the sharp points teasing my skin.  He was holding back to bring both of us to fever pitch.  I started moaning, begging him to feed in fevered whispers.  My hands went to the back of his head, and I pressed him down, nails digging into his scalp.

Varick yanked my head back farther, driving his fangs deep into my neck with a fierce growl.  I screamed, my entire body shaking, pain racing with ecstasy across my nerves.  My spine arched, and I tried to meld my body with the vampire's.  I wanted him deeper, completely consuming me.

Time distorted in the way it can in dreams.  It seemed both forever, and yet not long enough, that the vampire ravaged me.  I was completely sated, though, when I found myself cuddled in his arms, weak and trembling, riding high on rapture.  I traced the lines of scars along his chest, wanting to remain like this.