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Theta Waves Thursdays: Act 7

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Theta Waves Thursday

Where each Thursday, I post an act from my new and ongoing serial story: Theta Waves. It’s been a couple of months since Phoenix was released, so instead of starting there (anyone who enjoys a Thea read has already grabbed it up for free but if you didn’t, you can go over to just about any ebook retailer and download it for FREE), I’m going to begin with Dragon: Episode 2.

 So settle back, prepare yourself for a typical tale that has all the darkness you’ve come to expect from a Thea read, but with a little added steam.

 Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

DRAGON ACT 7

She assumed it was the john from the boutique, but she couldn’t be entirely sure. A black hood covered his face, with eye holes that let her see each time he blinked. She tried to move, and realized she wasn’t lying on a bed comfortably waiting for the euphoria to recede, but was tied to a chair with her hands behind her back. She almost laughed aloud at the irony of her situation. Maybe her last thoughts shouldn’t have been of Ezekiel at all, Karma had a way of twisting humor back into a girl’s face. He’d saved her last time from exactly the same position, with almost exactly the same kind of man in front of her.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the entire room, for the blurring at the edges of her vision to sharpen. The decorations looked like what she imagined Anne’s room in the Tower of London had been like. There was a linen fold paneling, and a four poster bed. Except in the corner, atop a stretch of plastic drop cloth, stood a hewn out block of wood that must have served the other Boleyns as a neck rest as they lost their heads.

“I don’t plan to use that right away,” he said.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to not use it at all,” she said.

She was willing to bet that this particular john fed on fear as much as he fed on the fantasy of killing famous women.

He chuckled darkly. “For this particular fantasy, I don’t exactly require you to stay in character.” He backed away to sit on the edge of the bed and stare at her. She squirmed beneath his gaze, knowing that those eyes would be the last human thing she would see. Her eyes trailed off toward the block again. It was filthy, covered in old blood. He’d done this before, plenty of times. He obviously had enough money to pay for this particular fantasy once before if not repeatedly.

“Did you know that rumor has it that Anne was a witch,” she said.

He said nothing to that, but he did reposition himself on the bed.

“Henry always accused her of bewitching him.”

“I’m not interested in being Henry,” he said.

“Then what is it you’re interested in besides killing me?”

He shrugged. “I do have a few other proclivities,” he said.

She didn’t want to imagine what those were and why he hadn’t pulled her to the block yet if that was his intent. He obviously wanted to let the tension build before he swung the blow. She looked around for an ax, and realized there wasn’t any.

“Her executioner used a sword,” she said, remembering her history.

He crossed his arms over his fat chest. “Indeed,” he said. “But that’s where the history lesson ends,” he said.

She realized then that although the real Anne had gone to her death almost meekly and accepting, that her execution had been swift and meted out with some modicum of justice and, warped as it was, that this man in front of her had no such intention. He wanted her to be terrified. He wanted to chase her. He wanted to run her.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry there was nothing to move. Even the muscles in her body had begun to ache: withdrawal, she supposed. She didn’t usually suffer it so quickly after a smear, but ever since she had taken the three at once that Ezekiel had given her, it was all she could think about, all her body craved.

He must have noticed her trembling.

“I see you’re finally starting to understand,” he said. “Are you ready for me to untie you?”

She nodded meekly and he got up from the bed, trudging in his thick boots over to her chair. He went behind her and she felt the ropes coming loose.

“I know a few things about fear,” she said.

“Me too,” he said, coming round to face her. “I know that the adrenaline that’s pumping through your body right now is making you shake.” He looked down at her without blinking for a long moment. Probably savoring it.

“I know more than that,” she said. “I have a particular skill in that area as well.”

That had his attention. He knelt in front of her. “And what would a tiny girl like you know about causing fear?”

“You couldn’t have picked a better victim,” she said. “This Anne Boleyn in front of you is also a witch.”

He lay back on his heels, chortling. “You spitters do say the funniest things.”

“I can prove it. I can take you on a ride scarier than any haunted house you’ve ever been in.”

“Child’s play,” he said.

“I can take you on a ride more fearful than any adrenaline rush you got from killing these poor girls. From killing me.”

“If that was true, I might let you live a little longer.”

“It’s simple then,” she said. “All you have to do is cut your finger. Put it in my mouth.”

She looked at him. And waited.

“That doesn’t sound very terrifying.”

“Trust me, it can be. And if it isn’t, what have you lost?”

She couldn’t see his face, but he did seem to be considering. He stared off over her shoulder where the block lay in the corner.

“You deliver, and you gain yourself a few hours.” He stood, looking down at her. “In the end I’ll get what I paid for. Understand?”

She nodded. “A few hours extra seems a fair enough deal.”

“You won’t find the sword, you know.”

“I’m sure you have it well hidden,” she said, nodding at the bed. “You might want to sit down.”

He chortled. “That good is it?”

“That good and better.”

He undid the clasp from her neck, and maneuvered the links so that one of them shifted out. This he jammed into his finger and, looking at it for long moment, he watched as the blood burbled to the surface. Then, without ceremony or delay, he shoved it into her mouth. His fingers tasted like onions and tequila. She would have gagged if she wasn’t already falling down into the vision.

 

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Filed under: Theta Waves Thursdays

What readers are saying about Theta Waves

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News about Theta Waves

FYI for those following my serialized story: Theta Waves. First off: Phoenix is now FREE just about everywhere. (Amazon, why you so stubborn?) so please, if you like em dirty, dark, and blasphemous, go grab it. Meanwhile stay tuned for the next 3 acts of  Dragon: Episode 2, posted every Thursday.

 

Plus: The first 3 episodes will soon be in paperback. See what reviewers are saying about the compilation over at Amazon

Buy me from ebook retailers:

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Itunes
BN
Kobo
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Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

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Filed under: launch news

Theta Waves Thursdays: Act 6

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Theta Waves Thursday

Where each Thursday, I post an act from my new and ongoing serial story: Theta Waves. It’s been a couple of months since Phoenix was released, so instead of starting there (anyone who enjoys a Thea read has already grabbed it up for free but if you didn’t, you can go over to Amazon and download it), I’m going to begin with Dragon: Episode 2.

 So settle back, prepare yourself for a typical tale that has all the darkness you’ve come to expect from a Thea read, but with a little added steam.

 Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

DRAGON ACT 6

 

Theda backed away from the door. There was no way she could hide; she couldn’t give any indication that she’d heard what went on in the other room. What she had to do was try to look casual, to look as though she was waiting for her smear, to paste on the look of an addict jonesing for her drug. She had to make the redhead believed nothing was amiss.

 

Now just how to do that when her chest was heaving from fear was as good a question as anything. She tore for the chair and ottoman, reclining into it just in time. The door opened, spilling out both the redhead and the portly customer. Just beyond, Theda could make out two burly youths gripping Salima by her arms. Both of them had sidearms.

 

“All of these are spoken for,” the redhead said to the portly man as she entered. “But I have one in the back who I think might suit. I had her pegged for an Anne Boleyn, but I know you wanted to try something different for a change.”

 

Theda watched as he laid his gaze on her. It was obvious he recognized her immediately. A smile spread across his face that made her stomach convulse. “Sometimes the old standbys offer a man the best gratification,” he said, touching his lip with the back of his index finger.

 

The redhead strolled through the room toward her, nodding. “She’s fair, perhaps too fair, I know,” she said. “But she has those same wide set black eyes, and such a lovely long neck.”

 

Theda made herself set up at attention, all the while working to keep from trembling. She couldn’t let them see her fear.

 

“So am I good enough?” She demanded and hoped they didn’t hear the tremor in her voice. “Do you approve?” She had a feeling that contract or not, changing her mind wouldn’t be an option at this point. They had her exactly where they wanted her; what the redhead counted on was Theda’s ignorance.

 

The john scratched his nose. “I couldn’t have asked for a better fit,” he said, turning to the redhead. “When can I have her?”

 

A noise came from the other room that stole the redhead’s attention for a moment, a frown overtaking her face, but she recovered quickly and turned her eyes on Theda. “I promised her a fix first,” she said.

 

“Damn straight you did,” Theda said.

 

“Tomorrow, then,” the redhead said to the john. “On account I presume?”

 

The john licked his lips. “I’ll pay cash if I can have her in the morning.”

 

“That’s a great deal of money to get together in a few short hours.” The redhead looked at her watch, then gave her attention to Theda. “Looks like you got your approval,” she said.

 

Two men came into the room from behind her, carrying a limp Salima by the hands and feet. They dropped her down on the cot. Even in the dim light, Theda could see she’d been given godspit; the lubricated look was already slipping over her face. No doubt they had to keep her incapacitated and in ecstasy until the poor girl found herself coming to in some room with a ratty mattress and a man hovering over her with a razor-sharp knife.

 

Despite her attempt at self-control, a shudder swam across Theda’s shoulders. The girl would’ve been better off taking her chances with the sidearms. Maybe even with the snake.

 

One of the men came toward Theda with his hand in his pocket. She knew what was in there, what he was about to pull out and pass to her. She knew she would have a choice to either take it and let herself escape these horrors, or pretend to lay it on her tongue and keep her wits about her until Ezekiel could find her.

 

If he found her. There was no guarantee that he was even coming back to this place. She should’ve just stayed put like he’d told her.

 

She met the young man’s eye as he held out the smear. She grabbed for it with all the abandon and greed of a spitter in desperate need. It wasn’t as if she had to dig deep to work at that one. She really did need. She really was desperate. She turned on those still standing beside her.

 

“Do you get your jollies from watching us drool?” She demanded.

 

The redhead pursed her cherried lips, trying to keep the victorious smile hidden. She nodded to the others and they followed her from the room, only looking back before she closed the door. Theda made sure the redhead saw the smear lie on an outstretched tongue, arms fling back as Theda fell into the chair.

 

When the door closed, she yanked the smear from her tongue. She examined it carefully, making sure the seal was still intact. She might not take it now, but she had a feeling she might need it later. Keep it like a spy kept a cyanide pill. She couldn’t exactly hide it in the bed spread she was wearing, but she could grab the young Morrison’s shirt and pull his jeans up over her own ass. Jam the smear into his pocket where it would be nice and safe.

 

And to think that a few short hours before, her greatest panic was remembering a vision of a life that had happened hundreds of years earlier. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get out, but she was going to keep her wits about her even if it meant giving away the godspit smear so she didn’t end up taking it.

 

She had to think. She could check the door to see if it was locked, but she’d need to listen for voices first. It wouldn’t do to rattle at the doorknob and draw attention to the fact that someone in here wasn’t blissed out. She was torn between wanting to grab at the door and rush headlong through the boutique and trying to calm the racing of her thoughts enough that she could devise a realistic plan of escape. She had to pull in several deep breaths before she even managed to stop the trembling.

 

It was obvious they kept everyone under until they were needed, and then spitters probably were allowed to come back to reality only so much before they were handed over to their johns. She knew that a typical street smear offered about 12 hours of euphoria, but she also knew those have no quality control either. Someone with the redhead’s resources might have found a way to regulate the hit. The question was whether the hit was stronger or weaker. She fondled the smear in her pocket, wondering what grade it might be, considering using it just before morning and ruining Henry VIII’s plans. It was risky: if she didn’t find a way out she might very well end up like Salima and awaiting for a far worse fate than a quick death. But it might do to buy herself a little more time if she couldn’t come up with a viable escape plan.

 

So she had two contingency plans: use the smear to buy her time, or use the smear to lose her mind just before the killing blow. Neither of them did anything to stop up the bile that burned in her stomach. She needed a better plan.

 

She had sat on the edge of the Ottoman, chewing her nails for what seemed an eternity when she heard the door unlock. She wasn’t sure she had got herself back into position in enough time, but she did manage to turn her head in the direction of the door, opening her eyes just enough to make out shapes within. Two men, judging by the voices. The burly handlers from the boutique.

 

“That one needs a new smear,” one man said.

 

“You do it; I hate touching them.”

 

“Put your gloves on,” the first said. “Then you don’t have to worry about catching anything.”

 

“I don’t care about catching anything,” the second said. “I just don’t like the way their mouths feel.”

 

So she was right; they did keep everyone drugged and on a schedule. That also meant the door would be opened again and again until it was her turn. That would give her plenty of chances to slip out. She would’ve smiled if she wasn’t so afraid of being caught.

 

Once they’d left, Theda moved next to the door. She’d sit there for hours if she had to, but when it next opened and they came in to give the next smear to some poor unfortunate soul, she’d slip out while they were busy.

 

She imagined herself as Ezekiel would find her, dressed as the lizard King, her hair another ratty mess. She smiled at the thought of his reaction. Lost herself in the fantasy of rescue. She was so lost in it that when the door opened, she wasn’t ready for it. The men were in the room before she realized they had closed the door behind them. She thought they were talking about Salima, but from her spot next to the door, she was too vulnerable to stay there and listen, too wide open in case they turned around; she had to take cover.

 

She didn’t even dare swallow and had to fight the paralysis as she inched her way to the first chair, so she could duck behind it until they at least moved further down the room enough that she could rush the door and slip out. She couldn’t chance them catching her or firing at her from behind. She had no illusions about her value, but she couldn’t be sure the redhead would offer a refund.

 

She realized as she hunkered behind the chair, that she was also next to the cot where Salima lay. The men had halted next to it, were talking about her, discussing whether or not her smear had worn off enough to bring her to the London room. Theda couldn’t see from her spot behind the chair, but she could hear that they were moving closer to Salima, perhaps lifting her arms as they spoke, judging her awareness by the reaction of her limbs.

 

“Just about another hour,” I’d say.” Said one.

 

“Judging by how her pupils are reacting, I’d say maybe less.”

 

“I guess the Ripper will have his Mary after coffee, eh?”

 

Coffee break. About 15 minutes. Theda could linger behind the door for that long, surely. She’d let them leave and then when they came back in to collect Salima, they’d be too busy to notice anyone else slipping out.

 

Theda stood behind the door as she did before, staring at the door handle, willing it to twist. The more she stood there, the more she thought about poor Salima. The girl didn’t deserve such a fate. None of these people did. But what could she do? She had no weapon, Ezekiel didn’t leave her with the Taser. She would be lucky if she would even get out of this room alive herself.

 

She did have one thing, however, that might at least postpone the inevitable for the poor girl. Perhaps if she was lucky, postpone it long enough that the Ripper would select another victim. It wasn’t much, but like meeting her in the hallway, Theda didn’t have much to offer her in terms of salvation. She took the steps before she could think about it further. With just the tiniest bit of regret, Theda pulled the smear from the lizard King’s pocket and peeled the protective layer away. For one moment, she thought about placing it on her own tongue; it was her last smear after all, one last chance to lose herself, but by her reckoning Anne Boleyn had a few more hours to live than wretched Mary Kelly. She pinched Salima’s mouth open and laid the smear on her tongue. The reaction was subtle, but Theda knew it was complete. She sighed in relief for the wretch.

 

She was on her way back to her spot behind the door when it opened again. The henchmen took one look at her and swore out loud. Dammit, she couldn’t move her feet. They were rooted to the floor like some humongous potted plant that couldn’t even be lifted from its spot. They were on her before she could take two steps towards the door and they had her by the elbows, twisting, kicking, yelling obscenities back at them. They wrestled her to her chair and one of them held her down while the other went for his pocket.

 

“No,” she shook her head. “Please don’t,” if she took that smear, there was no telling how long she’d be out. She didn’t want to come to with Henry VIII’s face looming above hers.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” she pleaded.

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” said the first man. He had a look of regret on his face, but there was also one of determination. “Open up.”

 

She recalled the last time a man had forced her to take a godspit smear. It had only been a few short days ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. She said his name aloud even though she tried to keep it to herself, even though the first jailer gave her a queer look when she said it. The comfort Ezekiel’s name brought her ears at least let her stick her tongue out, trembling, for the smear.

 

When she came to, she expected to see through her bleary vision the portly john she’d met earlier dressed in regal costume, his rotund stomach pressing forward grotesquely.

 

What she did see made tears sting her eyes.

 

The gentleman hadn’t wanted to be Henry VIII after all; he had been interested in being the king’s executioner.

 

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BN
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Filed under: Theta Waves Thursdays

Theta Waves Thursdays Week 5

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Welcome to Theta Waves Thursdays

Where each Thursday, I post an act from my new and ongoing serial story: Theta Waves. It’s been a couple of months since Phoenix was released, so instead of starting there (anyone who enjoys a Thea read has already grabbed it up for free but if you didn’t, you can go over to Amazon and download it), I’m going to begin with Dragon: Episode 2.

 So settle back, prepare yourself for a typical tale that has all the darkness you’ve come to expect from a Thea read, but with a little added steam.

 Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

Dragon: Episode 2: Act 5

 

The Boutique took an entire wing of the building and was lit by natural light bulbs. The costumes didn’t just droop from clothes hangers but were draped on wax figures of the famous person they were meant to represent. Alexander the great wore his linen armor as he sat astride Bucephalas. Bonnie and Clyde hung outside of their getaway car, grasping bags of money and semiautomatic rifles. Even literary characters were presented in the boutique: Jekyll and Hyde, Dracula and Mena, even Hamlet and Ophelia.

 

Anne Boleyn sat next to her portly husband, looking afraid and vulnerable. The black wig on that wax mannequin had been knocked askew and Theda moved to straighten it. She noticed the pearls around the figure’s neck had begun to brown from age or maybe from the sweat of its previous wearers.

 

“I want a smear up front,” Theda said to the redhead.

 

“Certainly.”

 

“And I want some sort of contract. I want to know how you’re going to deliver the godspit to me.”

 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” the redhead said. “I’ve been in this business a long time. I know how to handle it. Shall we set you up with your first hit?”

 

It was almost too good to be true. “Right now?”

 

“A girl doesn’t buy an expensive pair of shoes without first trying them on.”

 

The redhead crooked her finger at Theda, leading her down an aisle of rock stars. At the end was a solid wood door that opened without a single creak. Inside, draped across loungers and fainting couches were a myriad of youth in the throes of euphoria. Theda’s heart began to beat so fast she could hear it in her ears. She turned to the redhead.

 

“When do I get my smear?”

 

“Very soon. You have to be approved first.”

 

“None of them seemed to be waiting to be approved.” She pointed at an older woman propped against a younger man, both like everyone else in the room. It seemed to her that at least one person should be Jonesing like nobody’s business.

 

“They’ve been approved already.”

 

That didn’t seem right. Theda knew the high could last for hours, but surely some of them would be sweating from withdrawal by now, some of them smiling ear to ear uncontrollably at peak, some of them shaking into the first escalation of ecstasy. They all seemed to be equally comatose.

 

The redhead placed an elegant hand on her hip, aiming it toward a gaunt man in his early 20s curled into an overstuffed chair. “He wore the Jim Morrison outfit a few hours ago for a woman who fancied herself Pamela Courson.”

 

There couldn’t be too much shame or humiliation in that one, Theda thought. “Then why is he still here? Surely he’d take his smears and go.”

 

The redhead looked at her strangely. “He didn’t sign the same contract you have. If he doesn’t perform, he gets nothing.”

 

She’d bought him, Theda realized. Just one more slave working for his fix. She should consider herself lucky to have the option. Theda had seen enough. She’d wasted enough time already; there was a chair in the far corner with an ottoman of matching material that could have been taken straight from her mother’s living room. “I want that spot,” she said and held out her hand.

 

The redhead licked her lips thoughtfully. “Greedy one, aren’t you? I’ll get your party lined up straightaway so you can relax and enjoy.”

 

Theda was left to pick her way to the chair. She stretched into it, placing her feet on the ottoman and laying her head back against the cushion. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine being in her mother’s living room, hear the rattling of dinner dishes off to her left as her mom prepared supper. She could hear father praying over his Bible, asking his God to help him lead his flock.

 

She forced her eyes open. She would rather see the reality of where she was now, watch the spitters drool in their euphoria, than think back to that time. That time made her itch all over. It made her squirm in the chair. She should have picked another one. She scanned the room, searching for an empty place and found one, a small cot lodged between two fainting couches. She was heading for it when she heard a commotion on the other side of the door.

 

Whatever it was, was going to keep her from getting her God spit; she edged closer, leaning in so that her ear was close to the door jam. Shouting came from the other side, and crying. Sobs that raised the hair on Theda’s arms. She knew the sound of it. She knew the sound of the voice complaining on the other end, too. The first was Salima, Theda was sure of it. Selena and her portly master. She cracked the door open.

 

Her john had a hard grip on Salima’s bicep, shaking her as he yelled at the redhead. “She’s no good,” he said. “She won’t roll into the carpet. She won’t seduce me.”

 

“I wouldn’t have thought that would be such a big deal,” the redhead said calmly. “It’s not exactly what you paid for, after all.”

 

Theda watched the little Cleopatra’s eyes squeeze shut as she cried even harder. That infuriated her john even more. “I want a refund.”

 

“You won’t get a refund,” the redhead said. “It’s up to you to get your money’s worth.”

 

“Well I can’t,” he complained. “She took one look at the snake and bolted for the door. I grabbed her just in time, but I have no idea where the snake went.”

 

The redhead groaned. “You left that deadly thing to crawl into some crevice? You idiot. You didn’t pay me enough to deal with that foolishness.” She massaged her temples and then through clenched teeth said, “I would have thought you could handle a little slip of a girl.”

 

“What about my refund?”

 

“There are no refunds, you know that.”

 

For some reason, Salima began to sob uncontrollably, and this time instead of getting angry, the john let her go where she sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. The redhead looked at her irritably.

 

“You could have gone with something painless,” the redhead said. “One little bite and it would have been over.”

 

At first Salima rocked back and forth as she wept, saying nothing, but then she lifted her head from her knees as though she’d just realized something that she should have understood before. She looked from the redhead to the portly john, snot and tears mingling on her face. Theda watched her throat constrict as she swallowed in realization. She began to shake her head back and forth, the hair sticking to her face, her eyes so wide it brought a chill to Theda’s arms.

 

“No.” One single word then repeated in a litany that was almost like a prayer if prayers could be voiced in this new world. “No no no.”

 

The redhead kicked at her, knocking her to the floor into a fetal position. “I’m afraid yes,” she said. “I have a client waiting to become Jack the Ripper. Are you old enough to know who that is? No? No matter; I think you’ll do just fine as Mary Kelly.”

 

It was the way she said it that brought Theda’s mind back to the deal she’d made with the redhead. A free smear for every day she lived. It made her think about the part she had agreed to play: Anne Boleyn. She’d been married to Henry for about 3 1/2 years. She’d managed to live in the tower for 17 days before she was executed. She wondered how many hours that would condense down into.

 

The last Anne Boleyn lost her head for less smears than Theda could pay for with $400. A fistful of cash and still not enough to keep her alive for even a day.

 

She realized exactly what the boutique sold in that moment and it took the strength out of her knees. She had only to look at Salima and know that the girl hadn’t realized she was swapping a few hours of high for a part in a real life snuff play. Hadn’t realized it until just now when the part she had to play for her next john would be far worse than the deadly pinprick of the serpent’s teeth on her neck.

 

And now she was trapped here, with no way to get out except past the redhead and Salima, and the portly bastard.

 

And with Ezekiel, her bounty hunter and reluctant protector nowhere in the vicinity, it was then I have to find a way to save herself.

 to be continued next week….

Don’t want to wait till next week to see what happens? Find Dragon at the following ebook retailers

 Buy me from other retailers:

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Itunes
BN
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I’d love to have your input as I write, so feel free too comment on Twitter (#Thetawaves) You have the chance to impact the story line and how much raunchiness you can handle.

Filed under: Theta Waves Thursdays

New Romance Release from Debra Elizabeth

I have a special bit of news for you all today. One of my favorite writer peers has just released a new romance, and boy will you love her writing. I just one-clicked it for myself and suggest you do the same, especially since it’s a quick read for 99cents.

Title: SUMMER OF LOVE

Author: Debra Elizabeth

Published Date: February 7, 2014

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Book Blurb:

June 25 was supposed to be the best day of Jessica Blackstone’s life, but a family accident sends her perfect life into a tailspin. Trying to cope with the tragedy, she retreats to the family beach cottage for some much needed solace.

John Smith has been burnt by love, and is not interested in another relationship, that is, until he meets the beautiful and fragile Jessica. Can these two lost souls find love and heal their fractured hearts?

Summer of Love is a novella of ~20,000 words (80 pages in print)

Buy links:

New Release price only .99:

Amazon:

BN:


Filed under: guest blogging

Valentines Special: #99cents for 9 dollar fiction

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Happy Valentines Day

It’s the first VDay I’ve had anything remotely romantic in my catalog so I’m spreading the love. For Valentines Day only, Theta Waves book 1 (which includes episodes 1-3) will be on sale for 99cents at Amazon.com. That’s FOUR (4) dollars off the original price, and nearly NINE (9) dollars off the collective price.

If I were you, and I was thinking about trying this new series, I’d go get it now because I can’t see me doing this sort of thing often. LOL.

 Theta Waves. 

Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

 Buy me from ebook retailers:

Amazon
Itunes
BN
Kobo
Sony
Smashwords

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

Filed under: Thea bits

Theta Waves Thursdays Week 4

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Welcome to Theta Waves Thursdays

Where each Thursday, I post an act from my new and ongoing serial story: Theta Waves. It’s been a couple of months since Phoenix was released, so instead of starting there (anyone who enjoys a Thea read has already grabbed it up for free but if you didn’t, you can go over to Amazon and download it), I’m going to begin with Dragon: Episode 2.

 So settle back, prepare yourself for a typical tale that has all the darkness you’ve come to expect from a Thea read, but with a little added steam.

 Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

Dragon: Episode 2: Act 4

She waited as long as she could, perched on the edge of the plastic sheet, making sure Ezekiel was good and gone. By her reckoning, at least half an hour had passed, plenty of time for him to get out of the building. A niggle in the back of her mind nagged her about being trusted, of taking advantage of trust, but she squashed each thought ruthlessly. If he was foolish enough to leave a girl alone with four hundred dollars, then he deserved what he got. It wasn’t as though she had to use the smears right away. All she had to do was buy them and hide them and then she could have one anytime she needed it. She didn’t have to wait to see if he’d parcel out the ones from his stash or worse: decide not to give them to her at all.

She could be in control, get some harness put on this sense of freefall, reign in this motherfucken carriage so to speak. She was in the perfect place to score. In fact, she was in better shape here than she would be plying her trade on the streets. It would be insane not to use the opportunity.

She turned to the wall of mirrors and adjusted the black vinyl bedspread so that it was knotted between her breasts, then realized that the white sports bra ruined the effect. Far easier to score if she looked the part, so she stripped herself of the bedspread and peeled out of the bra. She left the thong on, for all the coverage it offered, and retied the bedspread around her breasts again. The material snaked behind her like a train that could be considered quite chic if she played her cards right. And she intended to play them well.

Clenching the bills, she let herself out of the room and made sure to leave it unlocked so she could get back in. A sense of excitement began to build in her chest, making her breath come in short spasms, the feeling of anticipation, of knowing that soon she would have her hands on enough smears to take her through an entire week.

She walked down the hallway, head down, with purposeful steps. If a girl wanted to look like she belonged, she didn’t go gawking around as though she was a tourist. Halfway down the corridor, a man exited a room, pulling along a sloe-eyed teenage girl wearing a Cleopatra type costume. It was cleverly designed so that the manacles on her wrist were gold colored and painted to look like they were inlaid with lapis lazuli. Except for the fact that the girl had a decidedly vacant stare and rattled along behind her master of the moment, the costume could have been quite stunning. Theda was just beginning to think Sasha was some sort of genius when the man turned on his slave and backhanded her hard enough across the cheek that she stumbled backward and fell against the wall. She slid down it and crumpled into a pile.

Theda’s first instinct was to run; this was no business of hers, but as she tried to inch past, the girl whimpered pitifully. Theda made the mistake of making eye contact.

“Please,” the girl said, but Theda wasn’t sure who she was pleading with.

The man loomed over the girl and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to her feet. “You forget yourself, Salima,” he growled and twisted the girl close to him, glaring down at her face as he pulled her head back. “A queen doesn’t beg,” he said. “Must I return you to the boutique?”

Theda tried to ease her way past, but the girl had begun to sob uncontrollably even despite the orders to shut up, the vicious shaking the man had begun to deliver. Theda didn’t know what the boutique was, but the word had stolen the last of the girl’s buzz and sent her into a fit of wailing that only infuriated her master more. It must be one powerful mother of a word.

“Excuse me?” Theda said and wished even as the words came from her mouth that she could bite her tongue. This was no way to get her fix. No way at all.

The man whirled on her, pulling the girl along in a renewed whimpering mess. He had pock marks on his nose large enough that the dirt within made them look like moles. Theda tried her best to disguise the shudder that moved up her spine. He looked like he would speak except for the rage that had captured his tongue.

Theda locked eyes with Salima’s. They were black and wide and even in the light of the hallway, she couldn’t tell where the girl’s pupils ended and irises began. Cleopatra was a perfect persona for the girl. Theda bent over delicately, in a purposefully subtle bow toward the pile of dung that still gripped the girl by her hair.

“You purchased her from the boutique?”

She couldn’t see him from her subjugated position, but she could tell by the tightness of his voice that his entire face had become a pinched up pile of muscle. “That’s none of your business, bitch. Now move on.”

She showed him her fist of money. “Is this enough to get me into the boutique?”

There was a pause and she dared peer up at the piece of shit. He’d relaxed his hold on the girl’s hair just enough that the skin around her eyes returned to normal. “A girl like you doesn’t need money to get in,” he said, staring at her without blinking.

“How fortunate,” she said, hoping that the small respite had made him forget his anger at the girl. It wasn’t much, but it was all Theda had to offer. Salima had already stopped whimpering and was making barely audible little choking sounds that indicated she was gathering her wits back together. Theda offered her a brief look of apology and then turned to make her way down the rest of the hallway. She got nearly a dozen paces before the man called out to her.

“Hey spitter,” he said and waited for her to turn around.

When she didn’t, he chuckled loudly enough that Theda could make out the undercurrent of cruelty within it.

“Tell them I sent you,” he called after her. “Maybe they’ll turn you into an Anne Boleyn.” At this he laughed straight out and Theda could hear the chain rattling again, Salima’s sobs renewing.

That was about as much salvation as Theda had in her. She fled the rest of the hallway, her bare feet catching in the material of the bed spread as she stumbled into the yawning expanse of the common room. She took a few moments to catch her breath, and realized her cheeks were wet.

If she ever needed a God spit fix, it was now.

She sent harried looks about the room, trying not to take in any actual activities, trying only to assess the faces and postures of those within. Surely one of them had a smear for sale. Surely one of them could tell her where she could score a fist full of cash worth.

It was like trying to find the least of all evils, trying to lay her eyes on an obvious dealer. The haze of the room barely disguised the glazed looks of the spitters who were obviously just out of the peak of the bliss, coming down, in some cases landing hard. It was when they were the most vulnerable, Theda knew. It was the time when they would do anything for the promise of another fix. It was the time they felt the most shame and the most need in equal measures. Exactly how she felt right then.

Either no one in the room cared what was happening around them, or they had long become desensitized to it. For Theda, it was like a Virgin peek at hard-core pornography; it was a forensic look at a newborn.

The smell of pot permeated the room but couldn’t disguise the stink of sex and blood. It confused itself with that of sweat until, stumbling through the crowds of patrons and spitters alike, Theda couldn’t tell whether the haze came from the smoke or from the stink. It was tough to avert her gaze from the faces of the spitters as they performed whatever act they were bid; there was a desperation behind their eyes that Theda knew so well that her mouth watered.

Her gaze settled on a couple on the far side of the room. He looked to be thirty something and his companion, obviously a spitter, knelt in front of him as he stroked his member with such fierceness and determination that she couldn’t pull her eyes away until a female voice came from beside, breaking the spell.

“Why do you suppose it’s always in the eye?”

Theda turned. “What’s that?” she asked, tearing her gaze away and onto the lithe redhead beside her. A sense of elegant poise quivered in every line of the woman’s body.

“The eye. Why do you suppose they like to shoot into the eye?” The woman inclined her head toward the couple and Theda followed her gaze. Indeed, the girl on her knees was wiping semen from her left eyebrow and off her eyelashes.

Theda couldn’t help chuckling softly. “And always the left one,” she said to the redhead. Now that she really looked at her, Theda could see that despite the sense of elegance, the woman’s makeup was heavy and artificial. Almost too perfect.

“You look familiar,” the redhead said.

“Of course I do,” Theda said, floundering for an explanation, any explanation even as she tried to deflect the woman’s attention from her face by showing her the fist full of money. “I’m Anne Boleyn.”

The woman wrapped her fingers under Theda’s, closing her fist over the money. “The last Anne Boleyn lost her head over less godspit than that will buy,” she said. “You don’t look that stupid.”

Theda swallowed, trying to rid her mouth of the waterfall leaking from her cheeks. She was close. So close. She could taste it, feel the tingle on her tongue. She had to get this done before Ezekiel came back, if he came back.

“I’m not that stupid. I know how much I can get. What I want to know is if you can get it for me?”

The woman smiled thinly, deepening the lines beside her mouth. “What if I told you the money wasn’t enough?”

“I’d tell you I’ll get it from outside and save myself a few hundred dollars.”

The redhead chewed the inside of her cheek, revealing just how much of her lips were drawn on in cherry red pencil. “We both know you’re not going to do that,” she said.

She’d been made. Maybe Sasha had even known when she came in with Ezekiel exactly who she was, maybe he’d seen her face on the promo. Maybe everyone in the room knew. Maybe the man in the hallway, the teenaged Cleopatra. She had to think fast.

“What you want?”

The redhead stuck her tongue in the corner of her mouth reflectively. “It just so happens I do have an opening for an Anne Boleyn.”

Realization dawned. “You own the boutique.”

The woman didn’t so much as nod. “A few hours. That’s all it takes.”

Theda looked down at the bills in her fist. “I can pay. All of this for just one smear.”

The redhead shook her head. “Where do you think you are? This isn’t some seedy street corner in the East End.”

“On a street corner I’d be able to afford a dozen smears.” Maybe that’s what she would do; slip out onto the street. Find a dealer. Load up. It was still dark out, perhaps even enough that no one would notice her, recognize her.

“A dozen smears for a spitter like you might last six days tops.” The redhead tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “You don’t have to answer; I know I’m right. What would you do if I told you that the Anne Boleyn play pays a smear for every day of the rest of your life?”

Theda tried to tell herself that the tingle in the base of her neck, that stretched down to the bottom of her spine, was anticipation. She tried not to think about Ezekiel coming back and finding the room empty. “How long did you say?”

“A few hours.” The redhead crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side. “It’s a pretty good deal if I do say so myself.”

Theda thought about the teenaged Cleopatra and understood finally. A few hours with a disgusting man, playing out his distorted fantasies, and ending up with enough smears to last your lifetime. If a girl played it right, if she ate well, stayed half healthy, she might be able to extend that life into years and years of pleasurable bliss.

It was more than the ruin of this new world could offer anyone.

She wanted to tell the boutique owner that she agreed, that it was a fair deal, but all she could do was nod her head in silence because her throat had thickened itself closed, choking off everything but the anticipation.

 to be continued next week….

Don’t want to wait till next week to see what happens? Find Dragon at the following ebook retailers

 Buy me from other retailers:

Amazon
Itunes
BN
Kobo
Sony
Smashwords

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

I’d love to have your input as I write, so feel free too comment on Twitter (#Thetawaves) You have the chance to impact the story line and how much raunchiness you can handle.

Filed under: Theta Waves Thursdays

Launch News: Theta Waves episode 4

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It’s Alive

Well, live anyway.

You’ve no doubt been reading the series Theta Waves here on my blog as I post acts from Dragon: Episode 2. Or you might have grabbed up the first episode Phoenix  from Amazon. you might even have gone on to Agni (which has no reviews yet, so do be kind, will ya?)

If that’s all true, you’re probably waiting for Chrysalis…episode 4. Well, wait no more. It’s here.

And to Celebrate (note the extraneous and excessive use of color) I am offering it at 99cents for 3 whole days, beginning Feb 7 until Feb 9. AND if you’re quick, you can get Phoenix at Amazon for FREE on Feb 7 just because I’m nice like that.

Now. If you hate to wait, I’m happy to offer FREE pre-launch copies of the upcoming episodes in return for promises of reviews on launch week. That means you sign up for advance copies, read it, comment if you like on the content, and upload a review to Amazon during launch week. Easy Peasy. What better way to read for free? Just email theaexcerpts (at) gmail (dot) com with the subject line: gimme ARCS and I’ll get back to you.

Here’s what readers are saying about Theta Waves:

Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

 Buy me (or Chrysalis) from ebook retailers:

Amazon
Itunes
BN
Kobo
Sony
Smashwords

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

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Filed under: launch news

Theta Waves Thursdays Week 3

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Welcome to Theta Waves Thursdays

Where each Thursday, I post an act from my new and ongoing serial story: Theta Waves. It’s been a couple of months since Phoenix was released, so instead of starting there (anyone who enjoys a Thea read has already grabbed it up for free but if you didn’t, you can go over to Amazon and download it), I’m going to begin with Dragon: Episode 2.

 So settle back, prepare yourself for a typical tale that has all the darkness you’ve come to expect from a Thea read, but with a little added steam.

 Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

Dragon: Episode 2: Act 3

Her mouth went dry, and she could feel the last of her buzz leaking out her ears. She could swear she shouted obscenities at him, but Ezekiel merely shrugged in that offhand way he had that made everything seem as though he’d just been offered tea.

The effeminate rattled around inside the chest for a few moments then held up a length of chain ending in a wide belt that came together into locking ends.

Theda flew at Ezekiel, fists landing wherever she could score. He gripped her wrist on her last punch and twisted just enough that she found herself pulled backward against him, chest heaving. She felt his mouth caress her ear. “It’s not what you think, minou. Trust me.” His tone turned apologetic, but she realized it wasn’t for her benefit; it was for Sasha’s. “They say they’ll do anything, until they actually get here,” he told Sasha in a pained voice.

“I understand; it happens more than you know,” the man said, eying her toe to head. “Pity you aren’t selling her; she’d bring a tidy profit with that honeyed hair, ratty though it is.” He combed through his own fastidiously as though to instruct her to do the same.

Theda twisted, trying to aim a kick at him. Sasha grinned. “I’ll give you ten thousand for her. That sultry, haunted look, and that kind of spit doesn’t show itself in her kind very often, if you catch the pun.”

Several things ran through her mind, not the least of which the concern that she was actually being sold. Human trafficking stories rose after the god came and left, but she’d never known anyone who went missing, had just assumed it happened somewhere, just out of her sphere. She could imagine it on the eastern part of the city, but the west?

“I’m in a spitter’s den, aren’t I,” she hissed. “You brought me to a spitter’s den.”

She felt Ezekiel nod. “Now put your leash on like a good slave and I’ll take you through. Show you what you’re missing.”

“Fifteen thousand,” Sasha–the owner, Theda now realized, said.

“I’ll cut your throat in your sleep,” she growled at him, but it only resulted in him upping his price.

“I better get you out of here before I have a chance to make my year’s wage,” Ezekiel drawled. He took the leash from Sasha and was wrapping it around Theda’s waist when Sasha stepped close enough to hold out a jangling set of cuffs.

“You might want these too,” he said.

“I have my own,” Ezekiel told him and then reached down into his boot. He extracted the taser. “And I have this.”

She’d forgotten about that. Time really had slipped by if she could forget his early threat of using it on her. By now she didn’t doubt at all that he would use it.

“Aren’t you afraid we’ll get recognized?” She whispered close to his ear, keeping her eye on Sasha, trying to assess whether or not he thought they looked familiar. “I mean your in just as much of a mess as I am.”

Ezekiel peered up at her as he clicked the lock closed. “Safest place for us, minou,” he told her. “Folks will be too busy with their own activities to care about us.”

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

“I think I do. I think you need to see where you could end up even if you do manage to escape the beast’s henchmen.”

“Henchmen like you,” she goaded.

He said nothing to that, merely pushed open the right door and pulled on her leash just hard enough to let her know he was in command. She resisted for half a moment until the belt cut into the skin of her torso.

Sasha placed his hand gracefully on the door. “The small matter of payment?” One delicate brow arched itself over a dark chocolate eye.

“Of course,” Ezekiel said. With his free hand, he reached into the inside of his jacket and extracted a manila envelope. Theda recognized it as the payment he’d received from the Mayor for abducting her. “How much for a private room, say for two nights?”

Without so much as looking at the envelope, Sasha stretched his palm out. “The room is 400 per night, the smears, the leash, the silence is a thousand.”

Theda watched him count out several $100 bills, her mind racing. The payment included a room for two nights as well as smears and silence. Perhaps this was the safest place for her. So what if she had to wear a stupid belt that connected her to Ezekiel in a demeaning way, she could ignore it if it got her a warm bed and a few smears to pass the time. She just hoped he’d leave her the Taser just in case this worm of a man next to them got any weird ideas.

“Just how much did they pay you for me?” she asked.

He cocked his head. “A goodly sum.”

“Does Bridget know you come here?” She said, at least wanting to get in one parting shot before he saw her to her room and went back to his lover.

He yanked on her leash irritably. “I don’t want to talk about Bridget.”

He pulled her through the door into a room filled with a different sort of john than she’d seen in the reception area. Here, through the haze of tobacco and pot smoke, there was a mix of women and men in various states of dress and undress. A group of young men circled together in the far corner, standing around in a familiar way that reminded Theda of a time during her childhood when one of her friends was getting bullied. Then, they’d circled around him, protecting him from prying eyes as each one of them took turns beating on him. She was just making the connection between that episode and what she was seeing when she realized that each of the young men in the spitter’s den was pushing his pants to his knees.

“What–” she started to say.

“Don’t look,” Ezekiel told her but it was too late. She realized exactly what they were doing even as she caught sight of a girl about her own age reclining on a sofa in the middle of them. She wore a collar around her neck, and nothing else.

“Oh dear heaven,” she blurted.

“Don’t use that terminology here,” Ezekiel said, pulling on the leash, aiming her away from the viewing the corner. “I’m working hard at a good cover and I don’t want your sultry, haunted voice to blow it.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Never,” he said, crossing two fingers over his heart, a smile playing over his mouth.

Theda looked around her more closely. “I thought maybe they just came here to –”

“Use?” He chuckled. “It’s more complex than that,” he said. “Some are actually here voluntarily.”

“Because of the godspit,” she guessed.

“Smart girl,” he said. “Those ones work for it and the patrons take advantage of their addiction.” He sighed. “They’re all trash, really.”

She took note of the room in full. Several young women performing a miscellany of sexual acts, some more violent than others, some more risqué: all of them just to the right of ordinary. There were men too, and not just as johns but as the gigolo: some with women, some with men. Those with men seemed to fare worse than the rest. Theda found she couldn’t look at the pairs of men; it was just too violent.

“So that’s what the owner meant when he asked you if you were renting, returning, or buying. He meant me.”

He nodded. “You have spitter written all over you, minou. Sorry.”

“And the non volunteers?”

“You have to.”

She shuddered. Slaves. All here because of the godspit.

“You wanted me to see this,” she said, realization dawning. She turned to him in accusation. “You intended all along to bring me here; you could have just done so while I was blissed out.”

He gave her a sardonic grin and pulled on the chain, making her stumble. “And have you miss the show?” He tugged on her chain again, this time with more purpose; it rattled noisily. She would have resisted except his cocky grin had shifted to something just shy of apologetic.

“You needed to see it, minou. This room is just the tip of the iceberg; worse things go on in the private rooms. This place, while worse than reception, is for those who can’t afford to buy the kind of anonymity and silence that more shocking activities require.”

For a second she felt sick and the feeling of freefalling rushed back. “Why are you taking me there then?” She pulled back on the chain, putting her weight into it until he stepped closer, close enough to put his Palm behind her back to guide her gently forward.

“Relax. We just need the anonymity and silence. I don’t plan on doing anything shocking to you.” He lifted a brow playfully. “Of course if you wish to do so to me, I’d have to tell you I draw the line at sharing you with another man.”

She clamped her mouth closed when he let go a throaty chuckle and trotted forward with him toward a hallway, trying to avoid making eye contact with any of the occupants of the room. She knew that he was doing this to try and get her off the drugs, give her a reason to go straight, but all that he’d managed to do was push it that much closer to the front of her mind. She could see that some of the crowd was completely in the throes of euphoria, that regardless of what was being done to them, they looked so completely ecstatic that all she could think was how badly her skin itched, how a smear could smooth out the sensory overload of reality. She had to swallow down a sudden flood of water.

Their room reminded Theda of old Earth movies with dungeons and torture chambers. She balked at the door when Ezekiel pushed it open and she saw a small cage large enough to fit a large breed dog. She knew right away what the cage was for even before she noticed the assortment of whips and handcuffs hanging beside it. A table in the corner held a dozen candles, and a chest hunkered threateningly beside it.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said.

“I’m not sure I want to know exactly how you knew this place existed,” she said, stepping into the room and pressing her back against the wall opposite the cage. She eyed it warily. “And I don’t want to know how you know Sasha.”

He eased the door closed and drew his hands along her chain until she had to step forward close enough that he could wrap his fingers on the belt. Two twists and he had it adroitly opened.

“And I really don’t want to know how you got that open so easily,” she mumbled.

He peered up at her. “I guess I have some experience,” he said, smiling.

He dropped the belt to the floor in a heap atop the chain, then sighed heavily. “I suppose you can shower if you like; I’ll see if I can find something for you to put on. Maybe get you some food.” He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering a little too long on her navel. “Meanwhile, why not wrap yourself in the sheet on the bed?”

He nodded toward a king size box spring and mattress that was covered with what looked like black vinyl. She couldn’t imagine how that clammy looking material would feel against her skin, but it had to be better than the way he kept trying to avoid looking at her. She had the nearly irresistible urge to turn away from that gaze, but she knew that the back view was just as revealing.

She inched toward the bed and pulled the cover off, wrapping it around herself sarong style. She was right: it felt disgusting. She didn’t even want to admit to herself that the sheets beneath it were made of plastic.

“The door locks from inside,” he said to her. “Can I trust you to let me back in?”

She chewed her lip at that. “I have no doubt Sasha will find some way to punish me if I don’t.”

He chuckled. “It’s nothing to what I’ll do to you.” He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, seeming to be considering something. “Don’t let anyone else in,” he finally said.

She held up her hand in mock surrender. “No worries.”

There was a long, tense moment as they regarded each other. It seemed there was something being left unsaid, but she couldn’t imagine what it was. She thought of Bridget and what she would say if she realized her lover was here in this place, wrangling a room for a sex slave.

“It’s safe here,” he said. “You’ll be okay till I get back.”

She eyed him warily. “Get back?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’m just going for clothes.”

She watched the outline of his hands in his pockets, the fingers twisting about in there until he finally pulled them free and with a haggard sigh pulled the envelope again from inside the breast pocket. He peeled a series of bills from the much thinner pile of bounty and passed them to her.

“Just in case,” he said.

She took them hesitantly, thinking it was a trick, watching him run his tongue into the corner of his mouth, considering, before he turned on his booted heel and left. Theda looked down at the money in her hand after he’d gone: four $100 bills. Enough for an extra night in this godforsaken place. Enough for at least a few dozen egg salad sandwiches and pot after pot of hot coffee.

Enough for half a dozen godspit smears.

It was that last thought that sent a gasp from her lungs like a quiet exhale of surprised pleasure.

 to be continued next week….

Don’t want to wait till next week to see what happens? Find Dragon at the following ebook retailers

 Buy me from other retailers:

Amazon
Itunes
BN
Kobo
Sony
Smashwords

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

I’d love to have your input as I write, so feel free too comment on Twitter (#Thetawaves) You have the chance to impact the story line and how much raunchiness you can handle.

Filed under: Theta Waves Thursdays

Theta Waves Thursdays Week 2

Subscribe to my newsletter Thea Reads for goodies, freebies, and news, but never spam. Never.

Welcome to Theta Waves Thursdays

Where each Thursday, I post an act from my new and ongoing serial story: Theta Waves. It’s been a couple of months since Phoenix was released, so instead of starting there (anyone who enjoys a Thea read has already grabbed it up for free but if you didn’t, you can go over to Amazon and download it), I’m going to begin with Dragon: Episode 2.

 So settle back, prepare yourself for a typical tale that has all the darkness you’ve come to expect from a Thea read, but with a little added steam.

 Looking for more freebie goodies? I’m amassing some over at Gimmesome. Go get some!

Dragon: Episode 2: Act 2

Ezekiel had caught her with her hands in his jacket pocket earlier trying to steal the cache of godspit, that he’d stolen from Ami, but she hadn’t spent the last year on the streets without learning a thing or two. Big bad bounty Hunter really needed to be more observant if he wanted to stay a step ahead of his prey. One thing she’d learned during her time on the streets was that people saw what they wanted to see. Ezekiel wanted to see her put the smears back into his pocket and so she obliged him quite willingly, offering up the expected guilty look, even. She’d made a big show of putting them back from where she’d extracted them, but she’d flipped one of the smears between her fingers as she showed him her Palm, proving that she was a good girl, after all, properly reverent and obedient.

She couldn’t imagine a better time to bliss out than when she was safely ensconced in an upscale west end apartment with the bounty Hunter charged with hunting her down protecting her. It was a gift if she’d ever seen one. She should feel guilty, like being given a Christmas present when you haven’t bought something in return, but the notion of Christmas was long gone with the notion of guilt. And damn if she didn’t feel almost as though she was expecting an entire Christmas tree of unexpected gifts beneath the boughs. She couldn’t remember a time when she felt as excited about doing a smear. Usually there was the tiniest bit of worry that while she was incapacitated and in the throes that she could be leaving herself vulnerable to just about any danger possible in the super city. Ezekiel had even found her that way the night he first tried to abduct her: being assaulted by two disgusting derelicts, unable to fully resist.

But she wouldn’t think about Ezekiel. She wouldn’t think about the way he’d pulled those two rapists off her when she couldn’t prevent them from taking advantage of her ecstasy and she wouldn’t think about the way his eyes peered at her in the street light, making her feel grateful for the first time in months. Making her feel something she didn’t think she ever remembered feeling.

Enough about Ezekiel and enough about all of this zealot business, about the sense that she had lived a lifetime with him long before, one filled with torturous agony. She had a full smear waiting for her. She had a real bed waiting for her. She had any number of hours stretching out ahead of her and if she didn’t do it right now, it would be all she would think about until she finally succumbed anyway. Best get on with it.

She hooked off the sneakers, pressing each toe into each heel and kicking them next to the bed. Now that she’d decided to go through with it, she couldn’t get her clothes off fast enough. Her mouth kept flooding with water and her tongue felt about twice its size. She shook her hands out, drew in several deep breaths, then lay backwards on the bed. She was closing her eyes even as the smear touched her tongue and in seconds the hot oil feeling had seeped into each pore.

She thought she sank beneath the oil at first and she could swear that the bliss smile had pulled at the corners of her mouth, except something wasn’t quite right. There was an army of tiny ants crawling over her skin, biting her in unison here and there like hot pokers pressing into her flesh. First her bicep, then her ribs. Once she thought they’d even found a way to make her cheek feel as though it had been slapped. She tried to open her eyes; there was too much oil lubricating them shut. All she could manage was a greased smile that somehow got pinched together so hard her jaw gaped open and her cheeks ached.

She started to float then and she thought, finally. The godspit had taken over, driving the ants back to their nest. It would be okay now. She’d float and watch the lights and lose everything except the pure euphoria filling her to the roots of her hair.

She woke shivering. At first, she wasn’t sure she had opened her eyes at all; the darkness was so complete. Before she could orient herself she realized the bed was no longer soft and warm; it didn’t yield beneath her shoulder like it should and it smelled of cement and wet leaves. Even so, there was no need for panic; all she had to do was take a breath, force it down to her toes, swallow. Her hands groped into the darkness anyway, searching for information that she could feed to her still-fuzzy brain. She expected to reach out into a good deal of space, but her fingers tangled into something scratchy and holey, like an old-fashioned Afghan.

“Finally awake?”

Ezekiel’s voice had come from somewhere up around her head. She tried to crane her neck to see him, but even as she tilted her head, she began to realize he was hovering over her, probably mere inches above. She wished she could see him. She wished she could see anything.

She wanted to ask where they were, but all that came out was a groan. She didn’t need him to speak again to know he was furious with her. The tension was enough to light the dark. Better to try to figure out her location. A cursory search with palms over her body told her she was still undressed, but that she did indeed have some sort of homemade crocheted blanket wrapped around her. Her nose told her she was lying very close to some sort of cement wall, that the wall was curved and that it was damp. A drain. That’s where they were. And it was obviously nighttime.

“Why?” she managed to croak out.

He snorted. “Why? I could ask you the same thing.”

She wouldn’t defend herself for using the smear. She didn’t regret it. “It was mine. I had a right to use it.”

“There’s an addict for you, thinking of yourself first.”

It occurred to her that he could have just dumped her in the storm drain and left her. But that still didn’t explain why he hadn’t. She thought she understood.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For making sure have a safe place to stay.”

She tried to squirm out of the blanket or at least get her arms free so she could find some sort of sitting position, hunkered inside. Her night vision began to adjust and she could make out the way he was curled into the drainage pipe, his arms crossed over his knees. Some of the light from the street leaked in enough that she could see the outline of his face.

She moaned herself upright, wrapping the blanket behind her shoulders and stretching it to her toes. Through the opening, she could see street lamps and beyond those a few squares of dim light that would undoubtedly be apartment windows in the west end. She could do worse, she supposed. She wouldn’t be able to set up shop for a while, all things considered, but she might be able to find her way back to the survivor station, get a sandwich from Ami if he was still alive, maybe enough smears to last a week if he took pity on her, make her way back here and lay low until this all blew over.

“Did you at least bring my clothes?” She asked Ezekiel. She could make the trek in her underwear, shoeless, but it would look strange enough that it might draw attention.

“You really are piece of work,” he said.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask; you cut my clothes up. Granted, you did wrap me in a blanket so I wouldn’t freeze when you kicked me out, but that’s no reason I shouldn’t expect the decency of clothing.”

“Do you have any idea what we went through?”

A chill swept down her spine and she had to wrap the blanket tighter. “I imagine one of you– probably Bridget–saw me lying there.” She said the name with a touch of spite in her tone because thinking of Bridget and her perfect face made her want to hit something. “Then I suppose after she’d taken time to make the bacon and eggs and pancakes and all those nice little things that make a person expect a thank you, she felt as though I was taking advantage.” She chewed the inside of her cheek in silence for a moment. “So yeah,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I have a good idea.”

She expected him to protest, not touch her gently beneath the chin with his fingers, tilting her face toward his. His mouth was so close to hers his words could have come from her lungs. “You infuriate me,” he said. “You’re so damaged you can’t even see truth anymore.”

“I see plenty,” she argued.

His fingers swept behind her ear, cupping the back of her neck and massaging just beneath the bone at the base of her skull. She thought for a second that he might kiss her; he was already pulling her close, snaking his other arm behind her back. In that moment, her stomach churned with the possibility of it. She went as limp as she could, yielding to him, letting her torso arch into his.

She wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he yanked her backwards from the storm drain, blanket and all, out into the air currents of the supercity. The blanket was stuck between them, her back vulnerable and cold as the breeze hit it. Her bare feet told her exactly how late the night was; the frigid pavement sent shocks straight to her knees.

“You want to get high,” he said, his mouth sounded like it was clenched into a line of tightly controlled anger. “I’ll get you high. I’ll get you good and high, high enough that you’ll wish I’d never found you.”

She was still trying to process everything, grasping at the blanket, trying to wrap it around herself to find some warmth, when he picked her up and flung her over his shoulder.

“It was my own smear,” she argued against his back, acutely aware of his stubbled chin and jaw against her bare ass cheek. “It was mine to take as I wanted. You stole it from me.”

“You could have waited,” he said.

She felt him striding off, had to grip his waist to keep herself from bouncing against him.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where you belong, obviously. You don’t seem to care what kind of danger you’re in.”

His idea of where she belonged became clear a few blocks later where she found herself plopped down unceremoniously onto her feet in front of a below street-level door. He pulled the blanket from her shoulders and flung it into the corner of the gutter, leaving her bare of everything but her borrowed bra and thong. She stood gaping at him, pulling her arms up around her chest because she was both cold and afraid. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with her bottom half.

“This is surreal; you have no right,” she started to say, but he placed his Palm over her mouth ever so gently.

“There’s no such thing as rights anymore, remember?” His face was close to hers in the dark and she could smell the soap on him from his shower the night before. “You almost died today, do you know that?” The throatiness of his voice unnerved her.

“That was yesterday.” She said into his hand, working hard to remember. Time really was slipping through her fingers.

Without a word, he took his hand off her mouth and rapped the door smartly. It yawned open, held ajar by a petite and effeminate young man wearing leather from head to toe. “Are you returning, renting, or buying?”

Ezekiel pushed past him, pulling Theda stumbling along in her bare feet. “None of the above, Sasha,” he said. “I brought my own.”

Theda peered into the smoky gloom. She could make out sofas against the wall, a few broad well-cushioned recliners. There were shelves along the walls that might at one time have been made to contain books, but instead were now filled with hookahs and liquor bottles. A few well-dressed businessmen lounged about, smoking and drinking. A handful of chicly dressed women sipped cocktails. So this was where the esteemed of the west end spent their free time.

“This way,” Ezekiel jerked on her wrist, urging her to follow him behind the effeminate doorman, who looked back over his shoulder briefly.

“I take it you’re looking for the den,” Sasha said.

“Yes,” Ezekiel responded.

Sasha halted midway down a long hallway in front of double French doors. There was a podium much like one would see at a high-end restaurant with a leather bound appointment book and feathered pen atop.

“Neck, wrist, or waist?” he asked and gave Theda an assessing look that sent her hands to her chest and hips at the same time, trying feebly to cover herself. “Neck, I’d say.”

Ezekiel turned his green eyed stare on her and for a moment she felt even more naked. “Waist,” he said, correcting the young man.

Sasha took a few steps to the left, just beyond the podium and pulled open an ornate chest.

“What is this?” she asked Ezekiel. “What did you mean by waist?”

Ezekiel’s charcoal brow lifted matter-of-factly. “He wants to know what kind of leash you’ll be wearing.”

 to be continued next week….

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