Struck By
Eros (Redeeming
Cupid #1)
By: Jenn
Windrow
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Muse It Up
Date of Publication: July 8th, 2016
ISBN: 1771278196
ASIN: B01FOHLNXG
Number of pages: 242
Word Count: 62K
Cover Artist: Eerilyfair Design
One jaded woman. Two hot men. A challenge
to prove Cupid doesn't always know best.
After a lifetime of dating losers, Noel
Chase thinks she’s found love with college professor Len Holder. But Cupid's
aim sucks worse than his crap-tacular curse, sticking her with supposed soul
mate, Grayson Adler. Grayson is gorgeous, Greek, and an exact replica of the
man-whores of her past. No matter what the chubby cherub thinks, Noel is sure
Grayson is Mr. Wrong with a capital “W.”
Forced to do Cupid’s bidding, Noel must
spend her days with Grayson matchmaking the unlucky-in-loves, and trying to
resist Grayson’s charm and do-me-now sex appeal. But when Cupid tries to match
her fiancé, Len, with another woman, Noel must make an excruciating decision.
Defy Cupid and hang on to Len? Or succumb to her fate and trust Grayson with
her heart?
Cupid delighted in
finding new ways to torture me.
We walked down the stone
path to the beachfront café where a purple arrow floated over a man in his late
twenties with a receding hairline, pockmarks, and a shirt that read, “I’m not a
geek, I’m a level nine warlock.” No wonder Grayson wanted Scenario Sixty-Two;
he had a soft spot for the desperate.
Grayson reached out and
unbuttoned three buttons on my bathing suit cover up, exposing a lot more
cleavage than a level nine warlock deserved. “Better than your personality.”
I shoved his hands away.
“Just go find his other half.”
Grayson blew me a kiss
and wandered off.
I closed one of the
buttons, slid into the empty seat next to him at the bar, and held out my hand.
“Hi, I’m Noel.”
He took a gander of the
goods, then knocked over his drink in a hurry to shake my hand. A foamy white
substance smelling of rum and coconut crept along the wood. His stare wandered
between the crawling liquid and back to me, but he finally made the decision to
ignore the mess and talk to the hot girl.
“Norm.” He ogled my
abundant cleavage, then remembered his good manners, clasping my hand in his,
shaking vigorously.
Thank God for divine
intervention, or this poor shmuck would never get laid.
But today was Norm’s
lucky day. Today he’d meet his other half. The ying to his yang. The milk to
his cookie. The peanut butter to his jelly. And he might even have sex.
“Do you play Warcraft?”
He looked hopeful.
I shook my head.
“It’s a great game. See,
the elves hate the orcs…” Norm started his very detailed explanation.
At the twenty-minute
mark of the ins and outs of The World of Warcraft, I developed an irritating
twitch. Another moment and I was going to find a BFG, otherwise known as a Big
Fucking Gun in geek speak, and shoot myself.
Flash Fiction by Jenn Windrow
Armed guards pulled me
from my cell, and dragged me over the blood splattered Astro-turf. They
shackled me to the goal post at the end of a football field
turned-execution-chamber, stripped me of my last remaining article of clothing
and left me to die.
Ten guards stood in a
circle around me, machine guns pointed at my head. They thought they were safe.
Five television crews hurried around the arena preparing for tonight’s
broadcast. They thought they were safe. A priest knelt in front of a vat of
water, blessing it. He thought he was safe. I’m a vampire.
No one was safe.
The announcer grabbed my
chin with his pudgy, gloved hand. His mouth spread into an ugly smile before he
turned and blocked the crowds view. He cleared his throat and spit. The warm
glob landed on my cheek and slid down before dropping to the ground. He would
be the first to die.
For five days my human
captors tortured me, punished me, abused me. I allowed it. Their acts bought me
time to plan my escape. The bitter blood of a family of rats who shared my cell
kept me alive, their donation helped remove the last trace of poison that
coursed through my veins.
Humans. They thought
they got lucky catching one of the Seven Sovereign leaders of the vampire race.
It hadn’t been luck. I’d been set up. By the six vampires I trusted the most.
Betrayed, martyred, and left for dead at the entrance of a Vampire Apprehension
Station. Silver injected in my blood to keep me compliant, close to death, to
ensure I didn’t slaughter the humans. Sacrificed because I didn’t agree with
their vision of the future and refused to cower to a lesser race.
Betrayal was an ugly
thing.
But so was revenge.
The stadium lights
flickered on and flooded the field in a cold white light. I lowered my head and
let my greasy hair shield my eyes from the glare. Soft footfalls approached,
bringing the all-too-familiar smell of body odor and peppermint with them. For
five nights the same pungent odor visited me to pray for my undead soul.
My gaze followed the
priest’s movements. He dipped a chalice into a vat of water, and raised the cup
in the air, drops of water sloshed over the sides and fell to the ground. He
walked over to me, the beads of his crucifix clicking against the gold cross.
“Delano Melazi, I’ll ask
you again. Shall I pray for your undead soul?”
I ignored him tonight as
I’ve done the last five times he asked me this question. It wasn’t my soul he
needed to pray for, and it wasn’t my body they would be burying this evening.
A moment of silence
stretched between us. He huffed and gestured for the guards. Two hurried over.
“Hold his head.” Warm fingers dug into my scalp and forced me to meet the
priest’s eyes. The twinkle in his baby blues was more devil than saint.
“By the authority of the
church, I mark you as one of the damned.” He dipped his index finger into the
chalice. The water rippled. He pulled his finger out and pressed it to the
center of my forehead. It sizzled against my skin and burned along the two
lines the priest traced with his finger. My fangs sank into my tongue, holding
back my agonized scream. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of enjoying my
pain.
“In the name of the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” he finished. The guards dropped their
hold on my head and it fell back to my chest.
The holy water cross was
meant to weaken me, to stop me from fighting when the executioner came out and
the real damage was inflicted. On a less powerful vampire, a younger one, it
was effective, but I was almost seven hundred years old. I possessed more power
than anyone knew, even the vampires who sent me here.
The Sovereign leaders
called my capture a small sacrifice, a peace offering to the human race. I
called it a punishment, a crime, an injustice.
Static from the
Jumbo-Tron played over the speakers. The announcer’s voice boomed through the
stadium. The crowd cheered, excited to witness my demise. And they called the
vampires monsters.
“This week, two brave
VAU agents captured one of the Vampires’ leaders. Delano Melazi.” The crowd
booed and hissed their hatred. “He alone is responsible for the Nightclub
Massacre.”
I had nothing to do with
it, but let them believe what they wanted. I had no quarrel with them, just
like a wolf has no quarrel with a sheep.
Once the crowd quieted
down the announcer continued. “A tragedy no human will ever forget. You’ve seen
the pictures. Over one hundred and thirty humans captured, tortured, torn to
pieces.” He paused and stepped closer. I felt the warmth of his flesh and heard
the beating of his heart. “This monster locked those doors. This monster
slaughtered your friends and family in cold blood. This monster deserves to
pay.”
His words worked the
already agitated crowd into frenzy. They raised their fists high in the air and
yelled for my death.
Just a few moments more,
that’s all I needed. Seconds until my power was restored.
The announcer’s fat
fingers grabbed my hair, pulled my head back and forced me to look into the
camera. “Tonight he will pay. He will suffer. He will die.” His words echoed
around the stadium.
No one heard the
handcuffs fall to the ground or saw me twist his head or heard his last breath.
No one knew anything was wrong until his head slipped from my fingers and his
body slid to the ground.
The crowd screamed.
The guards aimed their
guns at my heart, pulled the triggers and let the bullets fly in a flurry of
silver and speed, but I was swifter, stronger, superior.
Before the first bullet
hit the metal pole that had bound me, I was in front of the final guard in
line. Ten beating hearts at my feet. Ten gaping holes in their chest. Ten dead
bodies on the earth.
I turned to the closest
camera, the red lights still blinking, but unmanned. “I am Delano Melazi.” I
raised my voice over the commotion. “And I will seek revenge against those who
wronged me.”
The first blast of holy
water hit me in the shoulder. It knocked me off balance. The second hit me in
the face. The cross the priest had drawn on my head merely irritated me, but
the onslaught of blessed liquid burned, weakened and crippled me. It ran down
my arm, melted the flesh off the bone.
I had one chance to get
out alive. With the last remaining bit of strength still hidden deep in my
reserves, I vanished. Teleported, a handy trick only I knew I possessed, away
from the stadium and the humans, but not the pain.
Jenn Windrow loves characters that have a
pinch of spunk, a dash of attitude, and a large dollop of sex appeal. Top it
all off with a huge heaping helping of snark, and you’ve got the ingredients
for the kind of fast paced stories she loves to read and write. Home is a
suburb of it’s-so-hot-my-shoes-have-melted-to-the-pavement Phoenix. Where she
lives with her husband, two daughters, and a slew of animals that seem to keep
following her home, at least that’s what she claims.
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