Character Confessions: The Chosen One’s Assistant by Kimber Grey

Brae Hammett (Interviewer): Hello, and welcome! Thank you so much for coming. Please, introduce yourselves.

 

The Chosen One (The Knight of All Kingdoms, The Bearer of Gods' Blessings, etc...): *Grunts* Surely, I do not require introduction.

 

Tiberius (Assistant of The Chosen One): And I am called Tiberius. I am only here to observe. Please, do not mind me.

 

Brae: Excellent! Well, it is certainly a great honor to meet you, Chosen One! Very few common folk have the opportunity to converse with the Greatest Hero of Men. What brings you to our fine city?

 

Chosen: Well, you had undead beavers. So... you're welcome.

 

Brae: Oh? But you just arrived this morning.

 

Chosen: Yeah. All dead. That's what I do.

 

Tiberius: That's true. We were celebrating in the tavern by noon.

 

Chosen: *belches loudly*

 

Tibeius: *Face-palms*

 

Brae: I see. I did hear about the terrible unpleasantness on the river. I'm so glad that evil has been resolved. Thank you very much.

 

Chosen: Yes, yes.

 

Brae: With so much great evil in the world, how did you learn about our small city?

 

Chosen: The gods direct me.

 

Brae: Of course. But do you receive letters somewhere or perhaps have a council of wizards monitoring for...

 

Chosen: *growls* I've answered this question.

 

Tiberius: He doesn't like to repeat himself. He meant that quite literally, the gods direct him. I've seen it with my own eyes. It can be anything from a feeling of intuition to a bird carrying a message.

 

Chosen: Don't answer for me.

 

Tiberius: Sorry.

 

Brae: Fascinating. The legends say the gods are known to speak directly to you. Is this true?

 

Chosen: When they choose, sure.

 

Brae: What does the voice of a god sound like?

 

Chosen: Like the embodiment of everything they represent and command.

 

Brae: That's hard to imagine. Is there a way you could describe it to a common man such as myself?

 

Chosen: *growls*

 

Tiberius: Allow me. I have heard the voice of Trion.

 

Brae: Truly? The God of Strife and Darkness? That must have been terrifying.

 

Tiberius: Well, yes, but his voice... Nothing about it sounded human. There was a deep, unquestionable understanding that the personification of living power was speaking to me. I couldn't move, couldn't think. His words in that moment were the only reality I knew. Everything I've ever read about him: good, bad, horrific... I felt them all at once, and all so overwhelmingly, I couldn't breathe. It was also the saddest thing I have ever heard.

 

Brae: How so?

Chosen: Enough. This is my interview. What's your next question?

 

Brae: Oh, yes. Of course.

 

Tiberius: Sorry.

 

Brae: It is said you are quite old, though you look young and very hale.

 

Chosen: I am called to defeat the strongest and most cunning creatures that prey upon the innocent. I do all I can to remain equal to that task.

 

Brae: So, you exercise?

Chosen: I rigorously train. Daily.

Tiberius: *snickers*

 

Brae: And how old are you?

 

Chosen: Older than your grandfather. Older than the stories.

Brae: That is incredible. Some of the texts I read in preparation for this interview were hundreds of years old.

 

Chosen: Was that a question?

 

Brae: In several of the stories that are more than a hundred years old, your assistant, Tiberius is referenced or even authored them. Is he also blessed with immortality by the gods?

Chosen: I though you wished to interview a grandmaster hero. If you want to talk about Tiberius, I left two fine wenches wanting at the tavern who I could return to.

 

Brae: I only wish to understand the tools the gods have blessed you with to help you be successful in your great deeds. An immortal assistant—

Chosen: *grunts, stands, and leaves"

 

Brae: I... I didn't mean...

 

Tiberius: I thought you did well. He stayed longer than I expected. Please send me a copy of your article when you write it. I will add it to our library of publications.

 

Brae: Wait! Can you answer the question? Are you also immortal?

 

Tiberius: Um. So long as I serve him, I believe so. I really must go. I'm certain he doesn't remember the way back to the tavern.

  

 

The Chosen One’s Assistant 

Kimber Grey 

Genre: Epic/High Fantasy, Sword and Sorcery

Publisher: GrayWhisper Graphics Productions (

Date of Publication: 7/12/2023

ISBN: 979-8851108464

ASIN: B0C9SNG88J

Number of pages: 359

Word Count: Aprox. 98,000

Cover Artist: Kimber Grey

Tagline: Hilarious, Dark, and Epic! Everything you’d expect in a book with vampire weasels.

Book Description:

Never meet your heroes.

Outcast by every guild, starving, and left beaten and shamed in an alley, he was beyond desperate when the timeliest opportunity presented itself: The Greatest Hero of Men was in need of an assistant.

He was so eager to leave his old life behind, he didn't hesitate to accept the role of Tiberius, personal assistant to The Chosen One. The magically binding contract was signed, and the previous servant was out the door before the blood on the quill was dry. Tiberius quickly learned he was responsible for all of the hero's needs from mundane to absurdly ridiculous, and the hero himself was the most ridiculous of all. Woefully inexperienced as a quester, thrown into the hero's world of danger and debauchery, he could never have guessed how harrowing and frustrating this new position would be. Then he learned the God of Pestilence was holding a well-justified, 100-year-old grudge. Death, disease, and evil beyond any Tiberius could imagine awaited them on the path ahead, and The Chosen One had been called to stand against it.

How could Tiberius hope to survive his first campaign with the gods' champion against Trion, God of Darkness?

Amazon      Hardcover      Books2Read

Excerpt:

I returned to the room and knocked, entering at the direction of The Chosen One... who stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but his Chosen underwear and the tyrian purple cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His chest was puffed out, and his enormous, muscular limbs flexed this way and that as he posed himself in dramatic battle postures with his famous great sword. Every inch of visible skin was hairless and glistening. He had worked up a sweat admiring himself, and I could still smell the liquor on him.

"Um..." I mumbled, wondering if I should return at a more convenient—and less embarrassing—time. Much to my chagrin, he didn't stop flexing on my account.

"Go ahead and pack," he grunted as he clenched his stomach to make all of his tightly bound abdomen muscles pop. "I'll wait for the pressed clothes." He turned to the side and threw the cloak over his shoulder so he could admire his hips and backside, casting daring glances at his tiny embroidered face on the seat of his underpinnings through the polished brass.

I was certain my own face was scarlet as I skirted past him to gather up everything and return the items to the trunks that seemed the most appropriate. The entire time I worked, he didn't break from his posturing, and I wondered if it was a form of exercise for him, or if it merely exercised his ego. My work was hastened by embarrassment, and when I was done, I silently took up the first Tome of Tiberius. I turned my back, ignoring his grunting and wheezing, and flipped to chapter 3, skimming for the most pertinent pieces of information. I needed to know how to handle The Chosen One's finances.

I quickly learned it was my duty to draw up contracts when The Chosen One agreed to take a deal, enforce the contracts, and collect the fees. It was my duty to arrange for appraisers, auctioneers, and moneychangers to convert any "spoils" of The Chosen One's labors—those that he did not keep for his personal collection—to coin. It was my duty to ensure there was sufficient coin for The Chosen One to live whatever lifestyle he chose and to fund any campaign. Incidentals incurred as a direct result of a campaign—such as bribing furious husbands—came from funds before they were deposited into a bank and Tiberius' percentage was calculated. There was a list of "lifestyle" actions that came from the bank and were not considered incidentals; "donations and women" were on that list. Thus, I assumed him throwing coins into the crowd was not an incidental, either, but came from The Chosen One's own bank holdings.

"You need to plot a course for Vevesk," The Chosen One said between poses. "They have vampire stoats."

"What," I asked, slightly startled by the break in silence. "What is a stoat?"

"I think they said it was like a long rat." He glanced over at me. "Find out. And find out how to kill it."

I stared at him until his self-admiration embarrassed me enough to look away. "You don't know how to kill them?"

"I assume I cut them up enough, they'll die," he quipped. "You need to figure out how it happened so I can stop it. Evil wizard, ancient curse, typical vampirism, that sort of thing."

"I have to learn what caused this outbreak of blood-sucking long rats?" I asked, incredulously. Surely he was jesting. That was his job.

"Chapter 2," he said, stripping off the cloak so he could better admire his shoulders.

I grimaced and turned to the second chapter in the Tome of Tiberius. This detailed how I was to conduct necessary research for a campaign and successfully translate it to The Chosen One, for him to then implement that knowledge to complete his feats of heroism. I sighed deeply. "There is no university here to hold historical works, and many of the larger temples do not have any books in them at all. I will need to visit the Wizards' Guild, the Questers' Guild, and the Scriveners' Guild," I explained.

"Go quickly," he ordered without sympathy. "We leave soon."

I gritted my teeth and rose from my chair, throwing Tiberius' quill and a stack of paper sheets into my shoulder bag. It was all but impossible to do the kind of research this would require in only a handful of hours. So, I ran.

About the Author:

Kimber was born in the arid and alien land known as southern California. She began consuming fiction from an early age, and has ever been eager to emulate the works that dramatically shaped her heart and mind as a child. She began creating short fiction and poetry in grade school, and wrote her first (laughably bad) novel in jr. high. With a grandmother who is a writer and an editor, English teachers who encouraged her budding potential, and a husband with an even greater appreciation of the written word, Kimber has never lacked support in the pursuit of her bliss.

She published her first fantasy novel Quietus in 2009, and her second Seeking Destiny in 2012. The first three books of Faiden Reborn, Kingdoms Lost, Fallen Heroes, and History Forgotten were published in 2017. She has published two anthologies and four novellas, and her work has appeared in anthologies such as Missing Pieces IV, V, and VI; The Hapless Cenloryan-The Troubadour's Inn Book I (2017 Ed.), and On Wings of Steam: Ears and Gears. The Chosen One's Assistant, published in 2023 is her most popular yet, with it's heavy fantasy tropes and sharp wit.

http://www.Patreon.com/KimberGrey 

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Kimber-Grey/author/B00BU84D7W 

Spooktastic Haunted Book Fair Brings Dark Delights to Flint This October

Book lovers with a taste for the eerie and otherworldly are invited to step into the shadows at the Spooktastic Haunted Book Fair, happening Saturday, October 18, from 12–3 p.m. at Creative Cafe, 3318 Corunna Rd, Flint, MI 48503.

The event promises an afternoon filled with dark and paranormal romance, spine-tingling horror, haunting histories, and fantastical tales—the perfect mix for readers who like their stories on the spooky side. In addition to a wide selection of books, attendees will also find bookmarks, stickers, and other macabre merchandise to complete their haunted haul.

“Do you enjoy dark romances, haunted houses, and stories that send shivers down your spine?” asks event organizer Roxanne Rhoads. “The Spooktastic Haunted Book Fair is designed for readers who love to wander into the shadows of imagination.”

Whether you’re seeking your next paranormal love story, a chilling ghost tale, or simply a spooky souvenir, the fair will offer something for every fan of the macabre.

Event Details:

 Spooktastic Haunted Book Fair
 Saturday, October 18, 12–3 p.m.
 Creative Cafe, 3318 Corunna Rd, Flint, MI 48503
 Event Page on Facebook

Character Confessions: Shades of Night by Floy Owens

Violet Speaks

People think they know me because they have read the pages.

They know nothing.

Floy Owens calls herself my author. She decides where a scene begins and ends, how long I stand in silence, when a heartbeat quickens. She believes the story is hers to shape.

I let her believe it.

What she cannot write into existence is the stillness inside me. The place where time slows and thought sharpens until it feels like steel. She gives you dialogue and description. I keep the rest for myself.

Sometimes I watch her adjust a single sentence again and again. She wants everything precise. She does not realize that control is my language, not hers. I would rather leave a breath unmeasured than let her decide what it means.

Readers ask where I came from. They want tidy origins and clear motives. I could answer, but some truths hold more power when they stay unspoken.

She thinks she built me. Perhaps she drew the first outline. But I wrote the spaces between the words. I am the pause that makes a room colder. I am the thought that flickers after the light goes out.

Floy writes endings. I do not. Stories may close, but I continue. Every silence, every dark corner, every quiet street at night is another page waiting.

I am not a character who lives only where ink dries.

I am the part you cannot stop thinking about when the book is back on the shelf.

Shades of Night

Floy Owens 

Genre: Thriller

Date of Publication: 8/24/25

ISBN: 979-8262133963 

ASIN: B0FNN9D558

Number of pages: 222 

Word Count: 48,726 words

Cover Artist: Bryan Lauer 

Tagline: A Dark Psychological Serial Killer Thriller with Shocking Twists, Dark Secrets, and a Fearless Female Lead 

Book Description: 

When a successful bookstore owner is abducted by a meticulous serial killer, she finds herself in a sterile cage designed for torture. 

But as the captor attempts to break his victim, the roles of predator and prey begin to blur. 

In a deadly psychological game where survival means becoming the greater monster, she must confront her own dark history to not only escape, but to take everything from the man who trapped her.

Amazon

Excerpt:

The room is dim, shadows casting sinister shapes as Violet hangs suspended from the ceiling beam. The air is sharp, metallic. Her upper back is pierced by two thick, curved steel hooks, twisting cruelly into her flesh, skin stretched unnaturally taut. The thick rope threaded through the hooks connects her to the beam. Blood seeps in thin rivulets down her sides, creating jagged streaks that pool at her underwear’s waistband, before dropping to the cold concrete below.

Her legs are submerged in a steel basin, the stool beneath it unsteady. The water, tainted with rust and streaks of her blood, ripples faintly. Her arms dangle, hands still bound together. Her head tilts slightly forward, chin resting against her chest. She forces each breath to remain slow, even.

Erik crouches beside a car battery, his clean, collared flannel shirt tucked into dark jeans, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He tightens the clamps on the terminals, sparks leaping at the contact.

“You know, I’ve read every page of your life.” He lifts the jumper cables, taps them together, causing a spark to ignite. “Medical files, police reports, case manager notes. Every sad word.” He shakes his head, disgust feigned, setting the cables aside momentarily. “When you have money, nothing’s off limits, it’s sick really.” He moves to the basin, adjusting it beneath her feet. “I know exactly where you’ve been, what was done to you, who did it.” Leaning in, his voice drops, almost intimate. “Nothing about you is hidden from me.”

Violet’s lips curl in a half-smile, eyes sharp despite the pain. “Then you must know how all this will end.”

Erik holds her gaze for a beat, then lowers both jumper cables into the basin. Violet’s body seizes violently, legs kicking, sending ripples through the bloody water. The jolt rips through her, every nerve set on fire. Her jaw snaps shut, teeth grinding. There’s a rush of static in her ears, then nothing but blinding white. She bites her tongue to keep from crying out. In the haze, she thinks she hears Erik counting under his breath. Her back arches against the hooks, fresh blood weeping from the wounds. The water bubbles and hisses as the current surges.

As smoke fills the Cage and the pain recedes, Violet’s awareness drifts. For Erik, each session in the Cage is a key, unlocking a different memory he has constructed from her files. He pictures another house, another set of wounds, another day when everything was already broken.

He sees it as clearly as the files he read. She would have been younger then, thinner, eyes already trained on disaster. He pictures her entering a silent house, feeling the weight of what waits inside. It is not guesswork anymore. The details are always the same.

 

***

 

Twenty-One Years Ago

 

The house door creaks open. Violet steps inside, fifteen and all sharp angles, her backpack slipping from one shoulder. She doesn’t bother fixing it. The air inside is heavy with stillness, as if the house knew what it held and decided to stop breathing.

She does not call out. The house would not answer.

Dust drapes the furniture like snow. The living room is quiet, dark in places it never used to be. A coffee mug lies on its side beside the couch, cracked and forgotten. The blinds are crooked. No breeze. No motion.

Nothing waits to greet her.

Fifteen years old. She walks into a nightmare.

She steps further in, sneakers whispering across the worn floorboards. Her eyes scan the room like she’s been here before and expects what’s coming. Maybe she does. Girls like Violet don’t walk through life with surprises. They walk through patterns.

In the center of the room, her mother hangs.

The ceiling fan turns slowly, each rotation jerking her body just enough to keep the sound going.

Creak.

Creak.

Her legs are stiff, toes pointed downward. A bruise rings her throat, buried beneath the cord. Her dress has slipped from one shoulder. Her mouth is open.

The smell is subtle: sweet rot, sour perfume.

Her mother, tangled in her own mess.

Violet doesn’t cry. She doesn’t cover her mouth or run. She just watches the sway of the body. The way the fan keeps spinning, mechanical and obedient. Then, without a word, she walks past it. No glance back.

The kitchen has its own secrets.

Her father slouches in a chair by the table, neck limp, jaw slack. A bullet hole marks the center of his forehead like a forgotten dot on a test paper. The blood beneath him has dried into maroon shadows, seeping into the wood grain.

The table is chaos. A burned spoon. A twisted tourniquet. A cheap yellow lighter.

He never cleaned up. Never thought she’d come home early.

Her mother finally snapped. Maybe she couldn’t take the guilt anymore.

Violet crouches beside the body. She looks at his hands, still dirty beneath the nails. At the way one boot stayed on while the other sits overturned by the fridge. At the stubble that never grew evenly.

She doesn’t touch him.

Maybe Daddy spent too much money on junk.

She rises again.

Moves down the hall, light as breath, like she doesn’t want to wake whatever still lives in the walls. At the end of the hallway, she lowers herself to the floor. Her back presses against the floral wallpaper, now peeling. Knees drawn tight. Arms locked around them.

She doesn’t shake.

She doesn’t blink.

Or maybe she realized her main source of income was drying up.

The older the girl got, the less she was worth. Mommy shot Daddy dead, then strung herself up.

The house is still now, except for the soft tick of a clock and the distant, endless turn of the fan.

Violet breathes evenly. Her face is blank. Not numb. Blank. Numbness implies a feeling that once existed.

This is not grief. It is recognition.

A girl walks into a house and finds herself orphaned. And somewhere inside her, she knew it was coming.

Some part of her always knew.

 

 

 

About the Author:

Floy Owens writes stories about survival, obsession, and the ways people change when pushed past their limits. The debut novel, Shades of Night, is a dark psychological thriller that dives into the mind of both captor and captive. When not writing, Owens is usually plotting the next story, fueled by strong tea and a curiosity about what makes people tick.

https://subscribepage.io/floy_owens

https://www.facebook.com/floy.owens.author/ 

Free Read Armored Hours by Stephanie Hansen #Romantasy #MagicalRealism

Get it Free September 13- 17

Cable Girls meets Peaky Blinders meets Titanic

Armored Hours

Stephanie Hansen

The girls had forged a bond together like iron that could not be broken. Claudia, Kiersten, Lina, and Florian were on the brink of making history with their powerful feminist movement, but then they suddenly disappeared without a trace. Alexander was a desperate bootlegger who was willing to risk it all to search for them. 

Not only were they in cahoots with him to help smuggle feminist con-traband and forbidden booze, but Claudia had also unknowingly captivated his heart. He vowed to find them at any cost, but little did he know that their disappearance was part of a much bigger and sinister plot from the upper echelons of society. 

Set in 1920s Paris of the Plains, Armored Hours is a thrilling tale of love and mystery interwoven with hints of magical realism.

✨Light Romantasy set in the Prohibition Era

✨Strong Female Friendships

✨Magic Realism 

✨Mystery 

✨Found Family 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FLZSLFNY/ 

#Romantasy #MagicalRealism #FoundFamily #HistoricalFiction 

#ArmoredHours #FreeBook #FreeRead #KindleFreebie

K.T. Rose's Top 10 Favorite Dark Reads #Horror #DarkReads

 

1. Endless Night by Richard Laymon (1993)

Jody’s story begins at an innocent sleepover, which takes a horrifying turn when a group of intruders wearing human skin bursts in, wielding machetes. What follows is a relentless, pulse-pounding game of cat and mouse between Jody and Simon, a chillingly demented serial killer determined to eliminate any loose ends from that fateful night. I was so captivated by the tension and horrifying twists that I’ve read this book twice and plan to revisit it again. Simon stands out as one of the most terrifying and well-developed villains I’ve encountered; the shocking things he does throughout the story left me genuinely stunned. This book is the reason I love writing dark thrillers—it’s unforgettable, immersive, and absolutely riveting.

2. The Reformatory by Tananarive Due (2023)

Set in the shadowed landscape of the Jim Crow South, this haunting paranormal thriller left a lasting impression on me. The story moves along with the unsettling whispers of restless spirits and investigates the harrowing plight of two black children at the mercy of powerful figures. The blend of supernatural horror and poignant social commentary made this novel a definite favorite.

3. World War Z by Max Brooks (2006)

I enjoy apocalyptic stories that start with ordinary life suddenly upended. The shifting perspectives in this book highlight different characters’ beliefs, motives, and roles in restoring order, which adds depth to the narrative. This is one of my favorites.

4. All Sinners Bleed by S.A. Cosby (2023)

This book quickly became one of my favorites. It’s a deeply atmospheric crime thriller set in the Deep South, and I found myself totally immersed in its dark and twisted world. The characters are incredibly well-drawn, especially Titus, who feels real thanks to his genuine flaws and vulnerabilities. The antagonist is both sinister and surprising, ramping up the tension throughout. What I loved most was how the narrative’s moody tone and mysterious twists kept me turning pages late into the night. If you enjoy intense, character-driven crime dramas, I can’t recommend this book highly enough.

5. The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides (2019)

This was a brilliantly twisted psychological thriller that I recommend to everyone. The novel unfolds through two compelling stories, each centering on characters you can’t help but care about, while the supporting cast adds layers of intrigue and tension. I don’t want to spoil anything, but trust me—just go read it.

6. Holly by Stephen King (2023)

Holly is a compelling exploration of how both its characters and readers grappled with life during the pandemic. College staff mysteriously go missing and conspiracy theories spiral into real danger; the story captivates with its dark twists and deeply human moments. The suspense is thick, and Holly's an amazing PI, which made this a darkly fun book to read.

7. Ask for Andrea by Noelle Ihli (2022)

This novel surprised me in the best way and quickly became one of my favorites. The premise—ghosts returning to seek justice against the serial killer who targeted women—was unexpectedly engaging. I especially loved how the spirits and the living worked together, highlighting the power of solidarity and support. The book’s message is clear and resonant: always look out for one another.

8. Savage by Richard Laymon (1993)

What if Jack the Ripper escaped to the 1800s American West? A determined teenager pursues him across the ocean, leading to a suspenseful, dark adventure. The audiobook was so compelling I finished it in one day.  

9. Devil’s Unto Dust by Emma Berquist (2022)

Devil’s Unto Dust—This zombie adventure was exactly what I’d been craving. I was drawn in by the science fiction elements and found myself unexpectedly emotional at times (no spoilers!). The old-time western setting gave the story a unique flair I really appreciated. This one is for anyone who enjoys a well-written YA horror thriller with a gripping zombie apocalypse.

10. Mary by Nat Cassidy (2022)

I never expected menopause to be so hauntingly dark—and not in the way you might imagine. This novel blends paranormal and psychological horror with a touch of speculative fiction, creating an atmosphere rich in vivid storytelling and unforgettable, quirky characters. The world-building is wonderfully eerie, and the monsters and villains are deliciously twisted. Listening to the audiobook was an absolute pleasure.

Blood 

Trish Vampire Horror Series 

BookOne

K.T. Rose

Genre: thriller/ dark fiction/ horror

Publisher: Kyrobooks LLC

Date of Publication: July 1, 2025

ISBN: 978-1966857006

ASIN: B0DSVNHBY8 

Number of pages: 238

Word Count: 68000

Cover Artist: Cha

Tagline: Hunger. Desperation. Terror. A mother's love knows no bounds - neither does her appetite.

Book Description:

A vampire's existence is a delicate balance between predator and pretense. For Trish, that balance includes a loving husband, an innocent son, and a trail of bloodless corpses. When her latest hunt at Miller University goes awry, leaving a witness in its wake, her carefully maintained double life begins to crumble.

Months later, Trish sets her sights on a pure-hearted professor, but his death brings unexpected consequences. Captured by the victim's vengeful cousin and her violent friends, Trish faces a harrowing choice. She must either break free to protect her family or watch her perfect life dissolve into chaos. Can she escape before her husband, Randel, discovers the true nature of the monster he married?

Blood introduces K.T. Rose's chilling vampire horror thriller series. If you're drawn to dark supernatural tales, complex characters, and blood-chilling suspense, this story of maternal instinct versus monster nature will leave you breathless.

Books2Read

Chapter 1 – Chad

 

Trish wasn’t a student at Miller University. In fact, she went to Radcliffe before women were allowed to take Harvard classes. No, she was at Miller with a different purpose in mind, and it had nothing to do with studying. She was sitting in some frat boy’s dorm room—Chad was his name—with her fangs deep in his wrist, sucking on his musky skin and careful to lick up the mess of blood that ran from the wound like water leaking from a faucet. She considered the meal subpar; it was a little too sweet for her taste. Chad had certainly eaten nothing but cookies and Jello shots all day, skipping protein and salt. Luckily, human blood naturally had enough protein and salt in each sip; Chad would sustain her for a month. Lightheaded and intertwined in gluttonous bliss, her body swayed with delight as she took him in.

Chad twitched at the shoulders as he lay on the extra-long twin bed, his body limp and lacking the oxygen needed for consciousness, let alone enough to put up a fight. Trish figured that he had been about twenty-one years old. He was tall enough to play sports, and his build was fair with a little weight around his middle. His face was empty of wrinkles, young and new, and his smile was pearly. Chad had taken the time to chat her up before they headed to his room. He said something about playing an instrument and liking computers. He certainly told the truth about that, judging by the black trombone case leaning against a desk with the biggest monitors she’d ever seen sitting on top of it. The room's small size—slightly larger than a walk-in closet—made the computer look enormous. She was surprised the tiny room possessed a closet. To keep the conversation going, she pretended to be intrigued as she shared some lies about herself. She couldn’t remember if she was Julie from the accounting firm or Tiffany from the dealership. It didn’t matter. Her meals’ backstories seem to run together anyway, making it hard for her to put hobbies, jobs, and names with the faces of the corpses in her wake. As she and Chad stood toe to toe at the party downstairs, the only thing she thought of was his sweaty pores; the chemical scent of alcohol still wafted from him as he lay on his bed dying. Trish hated the smell, but it signified easy prey, like most college boys, truckers, or, in desperate times, a person down on their luck left to dig through pub and restaurant dumpsters. They were all so easy to trap and drain.

Trish caressed the edges of the lacerations on Chad’s arm with her tongue, pushing his blood to flow into her mouth as the party raged on beneath her feet. The attendees roared and chanted, yelled for more beer, and demanded someone to take their shirt off. The voices were the familiar sounds of the naïve—too drunk and high on acid or pot to notice there was a monster upstairs.

Sometimes, Trish wondered if college students’ parents bothered to teach them the basics; namely, not to bring strange women into their rooms. But, no matter how thin and pale she looked in that dark dress, men always fell for her. Her lean figure and plump lips were effective bait—irresistibly mysterious, she was told. Still, when the police found their bodies, there was always mourning and a sense of loss for someone so young and talented. Someone that human society classified as potentially important. Chad believed that hype, having told her that he was working on a chemical engineering degree and minoring in music. He was so close to graduating and living that life. As he spoke, Trish pictured him getting married to some nurse, buying a house, and having kids, because that’s what humans did. But what Chad didn’t know—a tidbit that she decided to keep to herself— was that he was doomed to become an unhappy, overworked middle manager who flirted with the idea of sticking a barrel in his mouth. She’d seen many people like him over the last one hundred and thirty-seven years. Chad was a cliché; there was nothing special about his dreams because he wouldn’t live long enough to loathe them. In fact, Chad had done Trish a favor by curing her cramps and insufferable hunger pains, and for that, she was grateful.

Chad stopped jerking, and her belly was full. She slowly withdrew her fangs, allowing blood to drip onto her lap. She used one hand to get a tight grip on his arm, forming a tourniquet. There was no pulse, just as she expected. With her free hand, she pulled the pocketknife from her leather tote, which lay against her thigh.

Trish learned a long time ago that a murder could be hidden in plain sight. By the time prey was found, their bodies would bleed out from the wrist or the neck. It could be suicide. It could be murder. The police never really knew. Even though she had to leave Chad in his bed for everyone to find, she preferred getting rid of the corpse by burying it somewhere massive like the ocean, the lake, a construction site…a dump. She’d make the authorities look for months, years, decades, then wash her hands of the situation, because if they did find the body, there was no DNA—the biological code they used to match a crime with a killer.

She pulled the blade up Chad’s wrist, along her fang marks. The knife tore his skin in half and flooded the wound with his leftover liquids. His blood had gone syrupy and thick, tempting her to lick it dry. But it was close to clotting; it would taste bitter and have all the consistency of old, clumpy cottage cheese.

Trish laid Chad’s arm on his bed and considered his pale face. He was a different person from the man she made out with and strangled before she went in for the kill. His eyelids were at half-mast and he seemed peaceful.

She unclenched his fingers and dipped them into the new gash. Then she slid the knife into his palm, staging his body.

Then she listened. She listened hard and kicked herself for not doing so sooner. She didn’t think straight, or at all, when she was hungry, and Chad seemed reserved—she was sure that his room was empty and that no one knew about the woman that he allowed upstairs. He’d even locked the door behind them. During her quick survey upon entry, she didn’t see anything. As they huffed and made out, swapped tongues and giggled, she didn’t hear anything alarming. And as she subdued him and slurped his blood, she didn’t smell anyone.

But right then was the crucial time to listen and engross herself in her environment because she was done eating. It was time to leave unnoticed because anything could happen around them. Them, meaning humans. Them, meaning blood bags. Them, meaning food…

Trish heard a young girl vomiting outside, just below the window. She imagined it smelled like cheap vodka and tapas. The boys just beneath her feet slammed shots of what smelled like pure ethanol. A girl bawled her eyes out just next door as she yelled about how someone was a horrible boyfriend.

And then Trish heard heavy breathing in the closet. The hairs on her neck rose.

 

About the Author:

K.T. Rose is a horror, thriller, supernatural, paranormal, and suspense author based in Detroit, Michigan. She shares her passion for spine-chilling stories with readers through flash fiction on her blog. Her works include Trinity of Horror, The Haunting of Gallagher Hotel, the Netted Series, and the Trish Vampire Horror and Serial Killer Thriller Series.

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