Round 1 Results are In

Moving on - To Fight in Round 2

 

ChargeD vs. Que Sarah Sarah

and

Elemental Rain vs. Forbidden

and

Ancient Awakenings vs. Across the Veil

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand—either way, she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black boot.

Dakota thrust herself to the side and raised her arms to shield her face. The boot smashed against her forearm. Force from the kick rolled her over, and her back crashed into an unforgiving brick wall.

Oh, that’s gonna leave a mark.

Cold, steel-like fingers wrapped around her throat. The ground beneath her fell away as the attacker hoisted her into the air. She grabbed the arm attached to the noose squeezing her neck.

“You think you can defeat me?”

“Oh my gosh, got any more clichés to spit at me?”

Marble-black eyes stared a hole through her. Rancid breath pierced her nostrils, triggering a gag reflex. Gone was the cute, blue-eyed, nice-smelling college boy named Chip Daniels she’d been flirting with minutes earlier.

He slammed her against the brick wall and pressed his body against hers in a way only lovers should. Eyes closed, he drew in a deep breath through his nose. “You smell delicious. I bet your blood tastes like wine.” 

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She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand -- either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot.

Dammit! There was no way her pursuer could have gotten in front of her. But the big black boot was undeniable evidence to the contrary. She raised her head and looked upwards beginning at the top of the boot. Her eyes followed the jet black leather encased telephone pole to a height of approximately five foot two inches, without reaching the belt line. Although a small part of her wondered just how much further the leg extended, her attention focused instead on the twelve inch ebony leather buckler that enclosed a small sapling that ended in a hand so large that it could not only palm a basketball, but rather could conceal it in its entirety. Unfortunately, the hand was not holding a basketball. The gargantuan hand was busy worrying the filigreed haft of a shiny silver rune inscribed war axe back and forth, trying to work the eighteen inch blade out of its brand new ten inch sheath of brick and mortar. She was fairly good with numbers. At five feet eight, it only took her a moment to figure out what would have happened if she had not tripped.

As she rolled to her left, she caught the briefest glimpse of the screeching black cannonball flying eight feet over her head.  

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She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand -- either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot.

Then she heard it, that all too familiar Irish lilt, ”My father always said I’d have the girls fallin’ at my feet, but I always thought it was just a metaphor. Darlin’, if you had feelings for me, all you had to do was say so,” he laughed as he held out his right hand to help her up.

Damn him! The last thing Lily needed on a night like this was to run into Jake Moran. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at his outstretched hand, attached to a well-muscled arm, which led straight to his face and that damn cocky grin of his. If she thought he was hot when she was fifteen, then he’s downright blazing now! An Irish Han Solo with a black trench coat and a ponytail instead of the blaster!

Propping herself up on her hands, she shook her head to clear her thoughts, got up, ignored Jake’s outstretched hand, and began brushing off her black, lacy, Victorian era style Goth-chick gown, checking to make sure she hadn’t lost or torn anything. “What are you doing here Jake?”

“And hello to you too, darlin’. I’m sorry to see that you still hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, but I’m still angry with you for leaving.”

“Jesus, Lily, that was ten years ago!”

“Exactly. You weren’t there when I needed you most, so why come back now?” 

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She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand – either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot.

Anita Miller’s breath shuddered in her chest. The raw flesh on her hands burned as she pushed up. Behind her, the presence had stopped. Its pursuit stalled by whatever wore that boot.

Pulse pounding through her, she trailed her eyes up the leather-clad muscular legs and a heavily-muscled chest. What she’d seen so far didn’t ease the fear clenching her stomach. The presence shifted, edging closer. She shot to her feet and met crystalline gray eyes in a face that was savagely beautiful framed by black hair. Dark wings rose behind the creature with the black boots. She sucked in her breath. For a moment, she forgot what was going on.

With her movement, the presence closed in. She’d only caught a glimpse of the thing that had chased her, but she had seen the red glowing eyes. This angel-like being in front of her seemed like the lesser of two evils. Those haunting gray eyes shifted from her to look at the presence behind her. She took quick stock of her situation: her knee ached, her hands were scraped, and she was pretty sure the fluid running down her leg wasn’t water. She moved to duck around the angel. A hand gripped her wrist. Shocked, she looked up. The angel didn’t look at her. She tugged at her wrist, but he wouldn’t let go. The alley opened back up to another street several feet behind the angel. If he’d let her go, he could take care of the presence while she got away.

“Let me go,” she said under her breath. “Yes,” the presence hissed behind her, flowing over her like ice cold water. “Let her go. She’s mine. I saw her first.” She slowly turned so that she could face the presence that had made her run until her lungs burned and her side ached.  

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She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand – either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot. A hand grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her feet.

His cool touch seeped through the thick fabric of her jacket and attacked her flesh. A vampire—the same vampire she had been waiting for to help her find Pandora’s Box.

“I’m sorry,” a deep voice said. “Are you okay, then?”

“Yes, thanks.” For a vampire she didn’t expect him to be so polite.

“I’m Nickolaos Petralias.” he extended his hand. “You are Ophelia Vallas?”

“Yes,” she accepted his hand and gasped at the spark of electricity cascading through her body.

For the first time she chanced looking the vampire in the eye. Even in the dark, his eyes were piercing blue and his hair— black as night. Tall and lean in the waist, he was divine. Her heart began to race and her nerves jittered with excitement as she gazed at him. She knew from her research vampires could hear, smell, taste and see what others couldn’t. 

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She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand -- either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot.

“Cut! Print!” The director bellowed. “Nice job Natalie. I could see the fear and uncertainty on you face. Really great work today.”

Dillon removed his boot from her face and offered her a hand. “Are you all right? The fall looked like it hurt.”

She dusted off her jeans and smiled up at him from under her lashes. “It’s supposed to look that way, remember? It’s called acting.”

“Well you did an amazing job.” He chuckled. “You always do. So you want to grab a beer?”

“Nah, I need some quiet me time in my trailer.”

“Suit yourself,” he said as he walked away. She watched him go. Dillon looked amazing in his not too loose yet not too tight jeans. Enough gawking, she chastised herself. 

Natalie turned around and made her way upstream through the production team toward her trailer. They’d been in Arizona for nearly three weeks shooting the special two-hour season premiere movie, and tomorrow she’d be heading back to her home in Malibu. She was ready to get out of the desert heat and back to a more temperate climate.

The climate changed immediately when she opened her trailer door. A tall man with silver eyes and long blond hair rose as she entered. She gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “Faldo? What are you doing here?” 

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STORIES FROM ROUND ONE

 

 

She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand -- either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot.

“My dad says if you don’t pay the protection money you owe he’s gonna break your legs, but not until after dinner ’cause my mom’s tired ’cause when she slaves over a hot stove all day and cleans the house and does the laundry that makes her hair look bad and her hands red and the girls are drooping so bad that without a bra she looks flat-chested and like she has Uncle Tony’s beer gut and she deserves appreciation and no that doesn’t mean the three minutes of bed shaking followed by the worst case of sleep apnea since—”

“Jeannie!” Clark said, interrupting the seven-year old before the kid revealed more of her parent’s marital bliss. “Little Rudy, you wanna ease up off of me?” She glared at Jeannie’s twelve-year old brother.

“Sorry Miss Clark,” he said, taking two giant steps backward.

With a groan, Clark levered herself off the ground, “This is what I get for taking Agnes’s shift instead of telling her to piss off like everyone else does.” Frowning at the wet hem of her second-hand magician’s cape and the alley goo smeared all over it, she cursed under her breath and wondered if she should take advantage of the casino’s twenty minute dry cleaning service. With money being extremely tight, she’d have to run a tab. She discarded the idea almost immediately. Paying Fat Rudy’s monthly protection was bad enough without owing another loan shark. 

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Part One

She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand -- either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot. With a sinking heart Ariane followed that boot up, her eyes skimming over the tight, worn blue jeans and the even tighter t-shirt until she got to the vampire's face. She bit back a groan.

"I thought you fae were supposed to be graceful," Gabriel said, raising one eyebrow. The dim streetlights made his odd grey eyes shift from almost green to a pale blue.

"Some more than others," Ariane replied cautiously, too wary of him to fire off the shrewish retort that immediately came to mind. She stayed sprawled out on the cold concrete until Gabriel bent down and offered her a hand up. His skin was cool and dry, and he lifted her to her feet with frightening ease, but Ariane was used to that part.

"I'm glad I caught you," he continued, holding onto her hand despite her gentle attempt to disengage. Oh, this was not good at all. "I almost thought you were avoiding me."

"I didn't expect to see you here." Ariane glanced behind Gabriel. The alley opened up onto State Street, only a few blocks from Library Mall, and Madison's resident vampire typically avoided the university campus.

Gabriel smiled his warm friendly smile. It crinkled the corners of his eyes and everything. "I was looking for you, actually. I thought perhaps you might be able to do me a favor."

He still had hold of her hand. Ariane was not bound by being caught like some of the other fae were, but even skinshifters like herself were more inclined to be helpful under the right circumstances. "What kind of favor?"  

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