Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2011, Eve Langlais. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Liquid Silver Books
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
I lost my humanity in a government experiment, and now find myself hunted because of it. Demons, vampires and even angels—everyone wants a piece of me. I say bring it on and prepare to die, because I intend to fight for my right to live.
A chance meeting with a giant shifter and his best friend—an actual genie with a bottle—has evened the odds just as a prophecy involving me increases the danger. But, this Hybrid Misfit isn’t about to give up, and with my lovers supporting me, I will change the world—and discover that two naked men in bed is better than one.
They claimed the treatments were for our own good, that it would improve our quality of life. They explained the locked doors, barbed wire and guards were for our safety. They told us the infusions they pumped into our strapped down bodies weren’t dangerous even as so many of us died—or worse, emerged from the screaming
. And, they also said it wouldn’t hurt even as the agony burned through our limbs and boiled our blood.
For every one of us that died, for every one of us that cried, and for every one of us that lost our humanity, someone would pay. Make that someone would die, not by my hand for even with the torture I suffered at their hands, I lacked that kind of ruthlessness. But my brothers and sisters, made kin by the shared experimentation, they had no such qualms; in fact they craved violence—and death.
When the uprising occurred, blood rained down and soaked the earth. Like a volcano erupting, vengeance, too long bottled, burst forth with deadly consequence. In the deep of night, when only bogeymen dared walk, I ran with the flames of Hades reaching high behind me in the dark sky. As I escaped my prison and the adopted siblings who’d finally turned on me with covetous eyes, I heard the chilling screams of the liars as retribution came back to bite them.
Then to eat them.
As for me, I fled and hid, but most of all I rejoiced because I was finally free.
Apparently, someone forgot to mention that with freedom came responsibility. Escaping the gated institution I’d lived in for three long years didn’t make everything all better. Although, I did enjoy the lack of needles, and bathing in privacy was a treat. In exact reverse though, I’d have to say I wasn’t too crazy about the gnawing pain in my stomach or sleeping on the cold, hard ground.
I couldn’t ignore the facts—I needed a place to live. I needed things to survive. I needed a job. Of course, that was easier said than done, especially considering I had a definite lack of skills. A grade twelve education did not make me a rocket scientist, although I could still recite by rote some of the Spanish I’d learned.
While in captivity, we’d had no access to computers or technology, and books were doled out for good behavior. I’m afraid to say, I didn’t read often. Emerging into the real world like a butterfly from a chrysalis, I needed to learn how to fly. Or, at the very least type and speak a second language. It wasn’t like I didn’t have any skills, but somehow, I didn’t think peeing in a cup with no hands would gain me points on a job application.
I tried all the easy places first—McDonalds, Walmart and other retailers that paid minimum wage and required no experience. Nobody hired me.
Annoyed that they’d foiled my plan to start a new life, I moped for days and thought about going back to kill the managers who couldn’t see my potential. It would have helped with my hunger at the very least, but caution stayed my hand—and a squeamishness over parts of my diet that forced me to resort to hunting those of my kind—well my kind until I changed, that was. But the loss of my innocent self remained a memory I preferred not to dwell on.
So what should a girl of twenty-one with good teeth, no skills or advanced education do for money? And an easy food source?
Thus was Trixi born, the newest exotic dancer at XXXButts. A shocking environment that I wouldn’t deny was degrading to women, but in their defense, they paid really fucking well. It also made feeding my hungers—and not the meat and potato variety—so much easier.
XXXButts was just a starting point though. I moved often in the beginning, especially when members of my past caught up to me and learned to their detriment that I preferred to stay hidden and out of their clutches. It was during this time I lost my squeamishness and I adopted the new motto of “I will kill to survive.” Eventually, I stopped running, and that’s when I found out, to my amazement, I wasn’t the only
working at my newest club. Of course, the siren and werebunny didn’t come close to my state of being, but because of our differences—and in spite of them—we forged a friendship that was stronger for our specialness.
My unique appeal on stage caught the attention of a bigger club within months—I knew how to please a crowd. Dragging my friends along with me, we moved to the more upscale location and I landed the cushy feature dancer position while Lana and Claire landed jobs as shot girl and waitress. My success entitled us to the best shifts, the cleanest most secure lockers and a never-ending flow of cash—among other things.
During my time on stage, I enticed and enflamed. I swung on the pole in a titillating dance as the featured Saturday night dancer. When I shook my booty, all eyes in the place were glued to me. What could I say, I was hot and not only did I know it, but humans did, too. Even better, their slack jawed excitement fed a part of me without my even touching them. If only I could have fed my other hunger hands-free.
My friends and I settled into a comfortable routine. We exchanged life stories. We watched out for each other and I thrived.
I should have known my comfortable existence wouldn’t last.
Premonition didn’t warn me as I hung upside down on a pole, my ankles crisscrossed while my anaconda thighs gripped the upright bar. My hands cupped my breasts—which were barely hidden by my pasties—while my hips dry humped the steel support, multitasking at its best. I was in the midst of my routine, sucking in all the thick, sexual energy, when they walked in.
Shit. Fuck. Oh crap.
About two dozen curse words went through my mind when I saw them, my long lost brothers. Or should I say rejected lovers—although given their rough ways many would have said rapists—for after the change, I went from little sister to coveted object. Their appearance couldn’t bode well. I pretended not to notice them, hoping I’d get lucky and they wouldn’t recognize me.
Their freakish yellow eyes zeroed in on me immediately, shooting down that wishful thought. I hid my own special eyes behind contacts of dull brown. Apparently violet colored eyes, ones that appeared lit up from within, weren’t the norm for humans. Imagine that. But mundane human disguise or not, I couldn’t mask my scent and I could see them sniffing the air as they took seats close to the stage. They didn’t make it to the pervert row, that first rank around the stage where leering men sat with eager faces and enjoyed the up close and personal show. But the trio didn’t sit far behind and I could see them muttering to each other even if I couldn’t hear their words over the blaring rock music.
Probably planning ways to capture me and take me back to their lair for some devious torture.
Okay, that was a tad melodramatic. They probably didn’t have a lair, but I wasn’t kidding about the capture part. They wanted me because of what I could do. Or should I say, what my blood was capable of.
I had no intention of becoming some kind of blood bank for them, even though I was tired of always looking over my shoulder. Freedom was worth dying for, I knew that from experience.
My set ended with me bent over and exposing parts of me that should never see daylight—I truly had no inhibitions when it came to displaying my body though. As soon as I could, I rushed to the back of the stage and slipped behind the curtain. I figured I didn’t have much time before they came looking, but I needed at least a minute to change out of my glittery outfit into something more respectable for walking the city streets. There were probably some who’d argue that the micro mini I shrugged on along with the sheer blouse and high heels was no better. Too bad.
After the sterile whites I’d worn for years—asexual garments that smelt of bleach—I craved color and loved to look sexy. Besides, it made getting dinner so much easier. I often liked to grab a snack to tide me over before going in to work.
But tonight, I wished I’d worn running shoes instead of three inch heels, as I slipped out the back door, usually manned by Bernie our bouncer. Tonight, the gorilla whom I bummed gum from wasn’t standing at his usual post, probably because he was beheaded and his body partially stuffed into the dumpster. His face, with an expression of surprise, gaped at me as it swung from a fist. My eyes followed the hand up the arm to a familiar face.
So much for sneaking out.
Five foot ten, lanky and with a shock of platinum hair, my ex-brother still wore the sneer he’d been famous for back in the institution.
“Jonathon,” I greeted him carefully. “Long time no see.” And I could have done with a lot longer given the last time I’d seen him, he’d had his pants around his ankles and a bleeding nose. I still fondly remembered the conversation he had with the edge of my fist. His attempted rape earned him solitary at the institution and I lost my pudding—a huge bummer at the time. After the uprising, I never saw him again. Although, I’d had chance encounters over the years with others. They weren’t happy family reunions needless to say, but I was proud to say I’d always come out on top.
“Love the new name,
” Jonathon coughed up a nasty chuckle as he recited the fluffy name I’d given myself, but seriously, who wanted an exotic dancer called Beth? Besides, as far as I was concerned, Beth had died along with my old life. The new me didn’t like to remember the humanity I’d lost.
“What brings you to town?” I asked while unobtrusively scanning the darkness of the alley for his two companions.
“This and that,” he answered vaguely. “You know, the whole crew has missed you. I know they’d love to see you again.” His yellow eyes narrowed as he smiled at me with pronounced canines.
I just bet they would—naked and cuffed, spread eagle for them to feed on me buffet style.
I decided to stop wasting time, for even an idiot could tell this wasn’t a social call. Besides, attacking Jonathon would draw the other two out. Not bad odds for someone special like me—and I was hungry, having skipped out on work early before feeding my needs.
I turned it on, the half of me that fascinated men, my succubus side. “Mmm, that sounds like fun.” With a sensual smile that promised delight, I sashayed towards Jonathon, the hypnotic sway of my body capturing him and allowing me to approach.
My brothers considered themselves predators—the baddest bunch around. Ha, they looked like amateurs compared to me. After all, I was the only one who’d gotten both sides of the curse—and lived. Perhaps I had an inflated sense of my worth, but then again, so far the score was Trixi six and bad guys zero.
Jonathon, under my spell, could only blink as I neared him, my nails on the tips of my fingers extending into claws—really sharp and deadly ones. My canines—a present from my other, more sinister, half—also descended as my adrenaline ramped up in anticipation of the violence I was about to unleash.
Time to open up a can of whoop ass.
I leaned towards Jonathon, inhaling his scent, but I wrinkled my nose, for unlike a human, he stank. Not physically, but metaphysically, the experimentation doing to him what only death does to humans—stripping his soul, his very aura. Without it, he smelt of decay, the sickly sweet scent of the grave even as his body appeared intact. And yet, even without his soul, my succubus powers worked on him, but in his case I’d feed on his very life, the spark that animated him—though not for much longer.
Bad smell or not, former brother in torture or not, he needed to die before he could tell others he’d seen me. I liked my new life and my friends, thank you very much. I wouldn’t let him and his covetous nature ruin it for me.