Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (74 page)

“
This is what I wanted all
my life. You are everything to me,” he said through gasping
breaths.

Shivering from my iconic orgasm, I
laid my head on his shoulder. Lucius chuckled quietly, rubbing my
ass with his hands.

“
What’s so
funny?”

Pulling my face up to his, he kissed
my nose, then stared at me for the longest time, his beautiful,
molten eyes glowing like stars from the heavens.

Finally, he spoke. “I believe when
Maria was dying she actually blessed me with you. Somehow, her
prayers were heard and the Gods above saw fit to send me you. Ivy,
I am the luckiest man in existence. Her blessing not only brought
me to you, but also awoke the strong, powerful woman sitting on top
of me now. The woman I am going to ravage from head to toe slowly,
starting now.”

With that, Lucius picked me up off his
lap and threw me squealing onto the bed. Pushing my legs wide open,
he knelt before me and raked his enchanting gaze up and down my
body. Goose bumps broke out all over my skin. Shivering with
excitement, I laid there waiting, wanting. This was the beginning
of our life together; so much more was to come, a lifetime of
discoveries together and a million questions to be answered . . .
like how I had just become a vampire.

~The End~

Book 6 – Dale Mayer

Tuesday's Child

Book #1 of Psychic Visions

Dale Mayer

Valley Publishing

Copyright 2010

ISBN-13: 978-0-9869682-7-3

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media, and incidences either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or
it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and
purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of
this author.

Chapter 1

2:35 am, March
15th

Samantha
Blair struggled against phantom restraints.
No, not again
.

This wasn't her room or her bed, and
it sure as hell wasn't her body. Tears welled and trickled slowly
from eyes not her own. Then the pain started. Still, she couldn't
move. She could only endure. Terror clawed at her soul while dying
nerves screamed.

The attack became a frenzy of stabs
and slices, snatching all thought away. Her body jerked and arched
in a macabre dance. Black spots blurred her vision, and still the
slaughter continued.

Sam screamed. The terror was hers,
but the cracked, broken voice was not.

Confusion reigned as her mind
grappled with reality. What was going on?

Understanding crashed in on her. With
it came despair and horror.

She'd become a visitor in someone
else's nightmare. Locked inside a horrifying energy warp, she'd
linked to this poor woman whose life dripped away from multiple
gashes.

Another psychic vision.

The knife slashed down, impaling the
woman's abdomen, splitting her wide from ribcage to pelvis. Her
agonized scream echoed on forever in Sam's mind. She
cringed.

The other woman slipped into
unconsciousness. Sam wasn't offered the same gift. Now, the pain
was Sam's alone. The stab wounds and broken bones became Sam's to
experience even though they weren't hers.

The woman's head cocked to one side,
her cheek resting on the blood-soaked bedding. From the new vantage
point, Sam's horrified gaze locked on a bloody knife held high by a
man dressed in black from the top of his head down. Only his eyes
showed, glowing with feverish delight. She shuddered. Please, dear
God, let it end soon.

The attacker's fury died suddenly. A
fine tremor shook his arm as fatigue set in. "Shit." He removed his
glove and scratched beneath the fabric.

In the waning moonlight, from the
corner of her eye, Sam caught the metallic glint of a ring on his
hand. It mattered. She knew it did. She struggled to imprint the
image before the opportunity was lost. Her eyes drifted closed. In
the darkness of her mind, the wait was endless.

Sam's soul wept. Oh, God, she hated
this. Why? Why was she here? She couldn't help the woman. She
couldn't even help herself.

She welcomed the next blow – so light
only a minor flinch undulated through the dreadfully damaged woman.
Her tortured spirit stirred deep within the rolling waves of
blackness, struggling for freedom from this nightmare. With one
last surge of energy, the woman opened her eyes, and locked onto
the white rings of the mask staring back. In ever-slowing
heartbeats, her circle of vision narrowed until the two soulless
orbs blended into one small band before it blinked out altogether.
The silence, when it came, was absolute.

Gratefully, Sam relaxed into
death.

Twenty minutes later, she bolted
upright in her own bed. Survival instincts screamed at her to run.
White agony dropped her in place.

"Ohh," she cried out. Fearing more
pain, she slid her hands over her belly. Her fingers slipped along
the raw edges of a deep slash. Searing pain made her gasp and twist
away. Hot tears poured. Warm, sticky liquid coated her fingers.
"Oh. God. Oh God, oh God," she chanted.

Staring in confusion around her,
fear, panic, and finally, recognition seeped into her dazed mind.
Early morning rays highlighted the water stains shining through the
slap-dash coat of whitewash on the ceiling and the banged up
suitcases, open on the floor. An empty room – an empty life. A
remnant of a foster-care childhood.

She was home.

Memories swamped her, flooding her
senses with yet more hurt. Sam broke down. Like an animal, she
tried to curl into a tiny ball only to scream again as pain
jackknifed through her. Torn edges of muscle tissue and flesh
rubbed against each other, and broken ribs creaked with her
slightest movement. Blood slipped over her torn breasts to soak the
sheets below.

The smell. Wet wool fought with the
unique and unforgettable smell of fresh blood.

Sam caught her breath and froze, her
face hot, tight with agony. "Shit, shit, and shit!" She swore under
her breath like a mantra.

Tremors wracked her tiny frame,
keeping the pain alive as she morphed through realities. Transition
time. What a joke. That always brought images of new age mumbo
jumbo to mind. Nothing light and airy could describe this. Each
blow leveled at the victim had manifested in her own body. This was
hard-core healing – time when bones knitted, sliced ligaments and
muscle tissue grew back together, and time for skin to stitch
itself closed.

Sam understood her injuries had
something to do with her imperfect control, paired with her
inability to accept her gifts. Apparently, if she could surmount
the latter the first would diminish. She didn't quite understand
how or why. Or what to do about it. Her body somehow always healed,
the physical and mental scars always remained. She was a
mess.

The physical process usually took
anywhere from ten to twenty minutes – depending on the injuries.
The mental confusion, disconnectedness, sense of isolation took
longer to disappear. She paid a high price for moving too soon.
Shuddering, Sam reached for the frayed edges of her control. It
wouldn't be much longer. She hoped.

Nothing could stop the hot tears
leaking from her closed eyelids.

This session had been bad. Apart from
the broken ribs, there were so many stab wounds. She'd never
experienced one so physically damaging. Nervously, she wondered at
the extent of her blood loss. If she didn't learn how to
disconnect, these visions could be the end of her –
literally.

Just like that poor woman.

Sam hated that these episodes were
changing, growing, developing. So powerful and so ugly, they made
her sick to her soul.

Several minutes later, Sam raised her
head to survey the bed. The pain was manageable, although she
wouldn't be able to move her limbs yet. Blood had soaked the top of
the many Thrift Store blankets piled high on the bed. Her hollowed
belly had become a vessel for the cooling puddle of blood. Shit.
The stuff was everywhere.

The metallic taste clung to her lips
and teeth. She rolled the disgusting spit around the inside of her
mouth, waiting. She wanted to run away – from the memories, the
visions, her life. But knowing that pain simmered beneath the
surface, waiting to rip her apart, stopped her. Weary, ageless
patience added to the bleakness in her heart.

Ten more minutes passed. Now, she
should be good to go. Lifting her head, she spat the bloody gob
onto the waiting wad of tissue and noted the time.

Transition had taken fifteen minutes
this morning.

She was improving.

Oh God. Sam broke into sobs again.
When would this end? Other psychics found things or heard things.
Many of them saw events before they happened. She saw violence –
not only saw, but experienced it too.

Occasional shudders wracked her frame
from the coldness that seemed destined to live in her veins. The
odd straggling sniffle escaped. She couldn't remember when she'd
last been warm. Dropping the top blood-soaked blanket to the floor,
Sam tugged the motley collection of covers tighter around her
skinny frame. Warmth was a comfort that belonged to
others.

She wasn't so lucky. She walked with
one foot on the dark side – whether she liked it or not. And that
was the problem. She'd been running for a long time. Then she'd
landed at this cabin and had been hiding ever since. That was no
answer either.

Her resolve firmed. Enough was
enough. It was time to gain control. Time to do something. This
monster had to be stopped. Now.

Christ, she was tired of waking up
dead.

Chapter 2

10:23 am, 16th
May

The police station, a huge stonework
building, towered above Sam, blending into the gray skies above. Or
maybe she just felt small. Insignificant. She couldn't imagine
choosing to spend time in this depressing place. It only needed
gargoyles hanging from the dormers to complete the picture of
doom.

The entire idea of what these people
did defeated her. She understood the necessity, yet given her
insider knowledge, this whole human viciousness thing was too much.
She wouldn't be here now except another woman had been
murdered.

Given her past interactions with the
police, even that wouldn't have been enough to make her sign up for
more. The last cop she'd dealt with had been one bad-assed
bastard.

No. The ring had brought her
here.

This morning's killer had worn a
similar ring to the one Sam had seen several months ago in another
vision. She'd caught only a brief glimpse of it then, with the
memory surviving transition to burn an indelible mark on her heart.
Even the mask and gloves had looked similar. The biggest nail in
this guy's coffin had been the energy. Like DNA, energy was unique,
a personalized signature so to speak. Both killers had the same
energy, the same variations in wavelengths and ripples. Even the
same type of vibration. But that was hardly police
evidence.

Knowing that some asshole had killed
again, filled her heart with sorrow and slowed her steps. Several
fat raindrops splattered her face – the joys of living along
coastal Oregon.

The weather didn't bother her; the
crowds and noise did. And the smell. Exhaust, sweat, and perfumes
mixed to become something only a city dweller could love. No, the
outlying community of Parksville suited her perfectly. The trip
into Portland was only twenty minutes on a good day.

Strangers with umbrellas shouldered past her. Would any of
them believe her if she told them about the murders she'd
witnessed, experienced? She'd faced distrust and skepticism with
every foster family. As a precocious six-year-old, she'd told her
foster mother's coworker to look after her son better. She'd been
punished at the time. But when the boy had drowned in his backyard
pool, Sam had really suffered. She'd been dumped back into the
system and the label 'odd' had been added to her file.
Her
gift
scared
people.