Ahh…so Miri has a small, teensy, weensy problem. You see, she’s a vampire who feeds on sex…so a succubus, but with fangs. (You following me?)  Okay.

Anyway, she had an uh, accident as  teenager and she cut herself off from her magic. Instead of it withering away or something, it grew a personality of it’s own. And it doesn’t have much of a filter. It’s hungry, all the time and views pretty much anyone/anything as a walking Happy Meal.

It also has no qualms about giving Miri a verbal beat down. So, here’s a snippet where Miri has gone into a vision state, and she’s going to meet the goddess Babd….(one of the trio of goddesses associated with the Morrigan.)

Babd isn’t as cuddly-wuddly as Macha. In fact, she’s scary.

Anything in italics is Miri talking to her magic, the Hunger. 

“Just take us to the Goddess already. She’ll be pissed we’re late as it is.”

Shit. More drama. “How do I do that?”

“Oh, what, don’t know how to do that? Right, I can see, right over here in the section titled ‘Miranda is a stubborn bitch who doesn’t like to admit when she’s wrong.’ Just concentrate on her, and we’ll be taken to her.”

“That’s it? Think hard and poof! There we are?” 

She didn’t respond so I took that as a yes. The image of the Goddess was so vivid in my head that it was easy to think of her down to the pearls sewn on the bodice of her gown. The endless white expanse all around me began to darken with shadows and outlines. Trees took shape, materializing right next to where I stood. The ground became a dirt path through a dense wood.

I walked about four steps before pine needles stabbed my feet and I remembered I could visualize clothes for myself. Jeans, a hoodie, and a pair of hiking boots seemed to make the most sense. When my hair snagged on a low branch, I materialized a hair elastic and put it in a ponytail. The trail went on forever, but I kept walking. The last time I had seen the Goddess she had approached me, so maybe my magic was right and she was angry. A derisive snort echoed through my head. I decided to stop walking and apologize.

“Might help if you got down on your knees.”

I rolled my eyes but sank to the ground. I wasn’t all that sorry about being late for a meeting I didn’t know about. “Goddess? I am sorry I am late for our…audience…today. Please accept my sincere apology.”

The trees rustled with wind, and the birds fell silent. A tall, dark-haired woman emerged from the trees in front of me wearing bloody leather armor and blue body paint. A quiver of arrows peeked over one shoulder, and a huge sword hung from her hip. She tossed a severed head over her shoulder into the bushes, and I fought down a wave of panic.

“You are a perplexing creature, but as you are of my bloodline, I will forgive your transgression. This time. Next time there will be punishment.”

I tried to stand up and found I couldn’t. Shit.

“Miranda, I need to you to do something for me.” Pine needles crunched beneath her boots as she paced back and forth. A long-bladed knife appeared in her hand. She tapped it against the opposite palm—smack, smack, smack—the rhythm making my stomach clench.

“Excuse me, Goddess?” I fought an urge to raise my hand. Criminey, this wasn’t kindergarten. She looked at me in obvious annoyance and glared down her nose. Guess interrupting was a bad idea. Duly noted. “Uh, um, I-I was, uh…just wondering, whattocallyou?” Cause you sure as hell aren’t Macha.

“You will address me as Goddess in my presence, if you need my assistance when invoking a spell you may call for me as Babd.” She crouched down in front of me, drew the blade down my cheek, the tip rasping the skin. A thin line of blood trickled out, hot and slow. She stuck a finger in it and then popped it in her mouth. “This will do for a sacrifice today. But do not come before me again without something proper.”

And I guess not even knowing about the audience makes no difference, right? Where is the pregnant mother-type Goddess when you need her? The Hunger chimed in.

“You’d better keep those thoughts off your face before she decides to chop your head off with that sword of hers and dance around in the blood.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

• About the Author
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Jennifer James

Multi-published author of erotica and erotic romance. I love happy endings, zombies, chocolate, ponies, Jensen Ackles, nerd humor, and bad puns.

www.authorjenniferjames.com

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