Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Sex from Lor's Point of View

“WHO AM I?” the blonde kneeling between my legs demands.

I need to come so bad I hurt.

I know the answer she wants.  She wants me to call her ‘Mistress.’  Like she’s the Dom. She’s already tried to get me to say it twice, sneaking it in like she thinks I won’t notice because of the mind-blowing stuff she’s been doing with her lips and tongue and that flawlessly executed glide of teeth so few women ever master when giving head.

She’s wasting her time. It’s never going to happen. There isn’t a submissive bone in my body. I’m Alpha to the motherfucking core.

I pull her head from my groin and grin down at her. Hot, horny blondes are a dime a dozen at Chester’s.  Riots may have sacked Dublin last Halloween and a killer freeze might have shut the city down for a while, but it’s rebounding fast. People have been flooding in, resettling on both sides of the River Liffey, drawn by the thaw, restored power and supplies, but most of all by the endless parade of sexually insatiable Fae that pack the bars and dance floors of 939 RĂªvemal Street every night of the week, hunting human lovers.  The hottest, most deadly nightclub in Dublin is bigger, better and badder than ever: Chester’s is Sin Central—if you want it, we got it.

“You’re not that good, honey.” I flash her a grin. My comment is guaranteed to spark one of two things: either she’ll get up and walk out pissed or I’ll get even better head.

I know by her confidence—and the hungry way she’s been watching me all night—she’s not walking.

She laughs and runs her tongue over her lips to make them even wetter, shiny with the spit of a pro and pre-ejac.  I lean back against Ry’s desk, looking forward to her amped up performance, watching her, watching the club through the glass floor beneath my boots, loving life.  As long as women walk this earth, I’ll be a happy man. If they ever get wiped out, I’m done. I’ll go in search of K’Vruck.

She slaps the head of my dick then closes her mouth over it in one long perfect slide all the way to the base….does some kind of swirly thing, then an intense suck back out.

I nearly stagger.

Son of a bitch, she’s good.

She has her hands on my ass, face grinding into my groin, my dick is down her throat, and I’m a frigging volcano about to blow. Problem is, I been ready for a good twenty minutes but whenever I get close, she mixes it up and shoves it out of reach.  What was initially a turn-on has become a pain in the ass. Not to mention the balls. I’m beginning to think they might rupture.   I’m dripping sweat and I’m not even the one doing the work, although I’m looking forward to getting down to it. The woman has one damn fine body.

I take her head in my hands and try to move her mouth on me the way I want.

She resists with a muffled laugh.

I pull her mouth off me and she looks up, smiling. Takes my breath away for a second. Her hair is a hot mess around her face, just the way I like it—bed-head always makes me want to fuck. Then again, pretty much everything does.

“Let me come, honey,” I say. “There’s plenty more after, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Do I look worried? I know exactly what to expect from a man like you. Who am I?”  She flicks her tongue over the swollen head of my dick.

I start to hit it, that’s how close I am, but then she does this twisting thing with her hands and mouth at the same time, and I got needles on my dick.

Pleasure killed by pain.

Velvet of her mouth.


It’s starting to chafe more than I like. And I’ve been known to play rough with the right woman. Or three.

“Mistress,” she purrs.  “Is it really so much to ask? For what I make you feel?”

I consider. She is blonde with big, beautiful tits.  Whole world knows I got a weakness for the combo. That’s how I’d ended up in the boss’s office, leaning back against his desk, leather pants around my ankles, buck-naked brick shithouse between my legs while the bass of Rob Zombie’s Pussy Liquor—and when the hell is she ever gonna give that up? It’s one of my finest skills and I haven’t even gotten the chance to dazzle her—rumbles in the desk beneath my ass, pounding up from one of the sub-clubs below.

I love this place. Definitely one of our better investments.

“I’m giving you the best head you’ve ever had,” she says.  “Admit it.”

Not a problem. I say so to every woman that sucks me. Women enjoy doing things they excel at, praise guarantees repeat performances, every repeat performance is more practice for the woman, which guarantees the next man even better head. Given how long I’ve been at this, and on how many continents, I’m pretty sure I’ve single-handedly improved the quality of head around the world.

“Sure, babe, you’re the best. Head. Ever.”  Damn close anyway.

“Who am I?” she purrs.

I groan. “The bitch sucking my dick.” We agreed on no names. She asked me to call her bitch downstairs when we were doing shots at the bar. Said it turned her on. Later, with a laugh, she switched it to princess. Now she wants mistress.  High maintenance.  Some women are worth it.

She cups my balls and squeezes, then begins sucking them with exquisite precision. All the muscles in my abdomen clench and I exhale explosively. I’m beginning to think this might be the best orgasm I’ve ever had.  If I ever get around to the bloody fucking thing.

“You really don’t get this, do you?” she says. Laughter tinkles and the hair on the back of my neck feels weird all the sudden.  There’s a darkness to the sound that might worry me if she wasn’t so frigging hot.

Speaking of hot, I look down to see sweat running down my six-pack, dripping down my legs. I’m practically standing in a puddle of my own sweat.  What the hell did Ry do? Crank up the heat in Chester’s to a hundred? I’m burning up. Lightheaded, like I have a fever. Which is impossible.

“Don’t care. You’re here. I’m here. Do that thing with your tongue again.  The swirly thing.”

“I’ll give you a clue,” she says and somehow she’s smiling while she’s sucking and for a second I think I see rows of tiny needle-sharp shark teeth.  Not what a man wants to hallucinate with a woman’s hot wet mouth on his dick.  I blink and wipe sweat from my eyes. Trick of the light.  She has perfect teeth, movie star white, framed to perfection by smears of crimson lipstick, most of which is all over my dick and stomach. Oh, yeah, I’ll take a blonde with cherry red lipstick every day of the week that ends in a ‘y.’ Life is sweet. I laugh.

She cuts me a look then shoves me back on the desk and I’m cold where her mouth was burning, then she’s on top of me, slamming down onto me and I’m pushing up into her. I’m a grenade, pin out.  Feels like my whole body is going to hit it, blow apart, come from head to toe. Bloody hell, sex has never been like this. I’m on fire, so frigging hot I’d swear the desk is burning.

Wait a second, it is.

Orange flames are licking up around us, like my sweat is some kind of gasoline sloshed across the lacquered ebony.  We must have spilled some tequila. Must have been a candle on the desk. I’m sprawled on my back in fire and can’t even feel it.  She leans into me, joins me in the flames, fists her hands in my hair and we kiss.

It’s unfucking real.

I half-expect celestial trumpets to blare. I feel like my skin is melting and we’re merging into each other. Strange shit.  But damn, my dick has never felt better.

“Who am I? Is it so difficult to give me such tiny thing?  A little respect. That’s all I’m looking for, honey. I can give you so much in return.”

Christ, she sounds just like me, right down to her inflection on the word ‘honey.’ I always get them to call me whatever I want. I’m always in control.  Isn’t much I like more than a beautiful woman tied to my bed while I make her come till she passes out.   So what’s my problem? Like she says, it’s a small thing. What can one word hurt? It isn’t like letting a woman have the power for a change can bring about the end of my world as I know it, for fuck’s sake.

I open my mouth and suck her tongue deep, grinding in, sliding out. I feel my dick inside her, and I also feel what she’s feeling: Me filling her, giving her all she wants except for this one tiny little thing that is so important to her for some reason. Maybe some man treated her like shit and now she needs to be called Mistress to get back some of her own.  Maybe I’m part of the healing. Maybe it’ll make her come as violently as I know I’m going to. I like women. I want them to feel good. It’s practically been my mission in life.

“Who am I?”

I try to shape the word twice and still fail.  I’d honestly like to give her what she wants but submission just isn’t the stuff I’m made of.

She clamps down on me and….aw, shit, she squeezes! She has muscles that could milk a herd of Holsteins dry. I buck and nearly get off but then she’s soft again and I get the feeling she could do this all night if she wants. And this crazy babe might just want to.

“Mistress,” I manage to growl. “Now make me come or get the fuck off me ‘cause I’m jacking off.”

“Tell me you want me more than life itself,” she croons, all soft and sultry.

“Sure, honey.” I’ve gone this far. If Ryodan ever finds out I called some babe Mistress, I’ll never hear the end of it.

“Would you die for me?” she asks breathlessly.

I’m beginning to see no matter how hot this woman is, despite her plentiful talents, she has serious-ass issues.  Looking for some big strong man to play hero for her. Who the hell isn’t?  Every woman downstairs.  I excel at the role. And I need to come. Simple enough exchange.

I grab her ass, grind up and drive deep. “Protect you. Rescue you. Guard your frigging honor if you have any left by the time I’m done with you, woman. Now squeeze.”

“But would you die for me?”

I don’t tell her I might kill her if I don’t come soon.  I might turn. She’s kept me on the brink too long.  I’m getting edgier than is safe with a woman. “Sure, honey. Whatever.” She doesn’t know I can’t. She doesn’t even know my name.

She pulls back and smiles down at me with rows of needle-sharp shark teeth.

Blonde hair darkens to blood-black.

Red lips fade to white. Then ice-blue.

Flames leap up around us. Takes me a second to process—also blue.

Aw, fuck.

I stare up, a little slow to get it.

I’m too close to coming to think real fast. Hell, her tits are too far in my face for me to think real fast.

Unseelie. The bitch is Unseelie.  I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it. I’m not easy to fool.  Well, sans blonde hair and curves enough to happily smother a man.

She’s dark Fae. Twisted buggers, one and all, some more than others.

And she wanted me to call her princess….

Unseelie. Princess.

I narrow my eyes, staring up at her.


The dark king never got around to making them. They’re a myth.  They don’t exist.  Damn good thing, too.  The Unseelie Princes are problem enough.

Oh, honey, she purrs in my mind, we certainly do. Trapped in a library for a small eternity.  One of yours let us out.  Good thing, too. Men have too much power on this world. We will fix that.

“Get the fuck off me.”

You called me Mistress. You said you would die for me. I own you.

I laugh. “Yeah, right. Try pursuing that thought.” I shove her off me but my hands go the wrong way, fly up over my head and abruptly I’m slammed flat on my back, with both wrists manacled to one end of the desk.

Links snake around my throat.

My waist. My ankles.

Fuck me.

I’m chained.

I lunge up testing the links, snarling. Magic doesn’t work on me.  Neither does glamour. Yet both seem to be. What the hell is going on?

We are a singular recipe. His final creation. She smiles and there are those frigging shark teeth again.

I’m immobilized, pants at my ankles, dick sticking straight up, and this bitch has shark teeth.  I’m beginning to think this might not turn out to be one of my finer nights.

“Say it again,” she says but now she’s all icy, imperious princess.   “Who am I?”

No way I’m saying it again.


My mouth opens and it says, “Mistress,” offending every goddamn fiber of my being. I think my balls actually shrivel.

She slaps me.  Hard across the face.

“I’m going to kill you, you crazy motherfucking bitch,” I say tenderly. My kind doesn’t get loud when we’re about to annihilate. We go soft and gentle. See us like that: worry. She doesn’t know I’m one of the few in existence that can actually make good on that promise. She doesn’t know who or what I am.

She’ll be calling me Master before she dies.

“Who am I?” she says.

I clamp my mouth shut and strain against the Fae compulsion and still my vocal cords grit, “Mistress.”

Oh, yeah, definitely killing her. Ten different ways and slow.

“That’s a good boy, Lor.”

What the fuck, she knows my name?

“Now we’re really going to play,” she purrs.
©Karen Marie Moning

Friday, April 18, 2014

A little BURNED teaser...

...just one sentence  (and a page from FEVER MOON because I like this shot of Mac and Dani fighting together)

Mac draws up short to keep from slamming into Barrons and her blonde hair swings back over her shoulder, brushing his face as it goes and my hearing is so good I catch the rasp of it chafing the shadow stubble on his jaw, then one of his hands grazes her breast and his eyes narrow when he looks at what he touched in a hungry way I want a man to look at me like one day and, as they continue to recover from the near-collision, their bodies move in a graceful dance of impeccable awareness of precisely where the other is at all times that is unity, symbiosis, partnership I only dream of, wolves that chose to pack up and hunt together, soldiers who will always have each other’s back no matter what, no sin, no transgression too great, ‘cause don’t we all transgress sometimes and it fecking slays me, because once I got a little taste of what that was like and it was heaven and they’re so beautiful standing there, the best of the best, the strongest of the strong that they practically glow to me, on fire with all I ever wanted in my life—a place to belong and someone to belong there with.

©Karen Marie Moning

Thursday, February 20, 2014

KMM talks about ICED & BURNED!

Q: When does ICED come out in paperback?
A: February 25th, 2014

Q: Why the change in cover art between the hardcover and paperback?
A: Cover art and marketing is a mystery to me. I leave it in my publisher’s hands. I know two things for certain: It’s hot and folks will undoubtedly write me both love and hate-email for it. After 15 books, I’m rather used to that. :)

Q: Why did you make Dani so young in ICED? Why didn’t you age her and give the reader a protagonist with whom we could better identify, one who could have sex? 
A: Writers make choices every day, every page, every scene, in an effort to accomplish their goals and showcase their themes. My goal is not to craft a formulaic story that pushes all the right buttons and sells the most copies but to capture the story I want to tell. I prefer having passion for what I do to chasing commercial gain.

I think most of us who stick around on the publishing scene for a few decades or more tend to write the same themes over and over, kind of like living our life, trying to get it right, make it the most impactful, memorable, beautiful, poignant, raw, ferocious, emotional.

My underlying theme has always been transformation and the redemptive power of love. If I begin with the finished product, there’s nothing to transform. The more base the initial material, the more dramatic the change. Dani is raw, elemental, rough around the edges in the beginning. She grew up by herself, shut away from the world except for TV. In ICED she has few social graces. As smart as she is, when she acquires them, it’s something to see.

I began young with Dani because there’s an innocence and magic in childhood—the loss of which is a story in itself—and when you’ve shared that time with a beloved character, watched her lose it, then get to see some part of it restored after a period of suffering, it’s immensely fulfilling.

A small segue…when I stopped writing my HIGHLANDER romance novels and began working on the FEVER series, I encountered enormous obstacles. Change is a demanding bitch. Yet gratifying. I went from writing successful, stand-alone, third-person POV romance novels with happy-ever-after endings, to writing first-person POV urban fantasy novels with none (initially) of the hot-sex-and-guaranteed-culmination in each installment that I normally delivered. To further inflame the situation, I spread the story over five novels and gave them cliffhanger endings (ending DREAMFEVER on a figurative and literal cliff.) As if that wasn’t enough, I proceeded to take an average of 15 months to write each book, stringing the reader along. (Speaking of which—to those original Moning Maniacs who suffered through the wait for each installment, it was great fun and thank you! The SHADOWFEVER launch party was one of the more memorable weeks of my life, spending time with you in NOLA, answering long unanswered questions.)

When DARKFEVER was published, I lost readers, I lost ranking on the bestseller lists, I lost placement in bookstores, and I lost money. There it is. Bottom line. (The FEVER books have since drastically outsold my HIGHLANDER novels, it ended up being a very successful move at a time when historical romance novels were about to become a dying breed. I count my blessings I jumped when I did.)

I got sliced and diced by fans who told me in no uncertain terms that I didn’t have what it took to write anything but romance, that I needed to return to my roots, pull my head out of that un-sunshiney place I’d been foolish enough to cram it, and give up the writing the FEVER series.

I didn’t listen. I rarely do. Oh, I heard it. It just didn’t change anything. I’ve got this tunnel-vision muse that isn’t after the money or the fame and frankly prefers a little less attention so she can work in peace. All she wants to do is tell stories without a moment’s thought to how they might be received. And that cantankerous wench holds the reins.

When ICED was published, I received some of the finest critical reviews of my career and the largest number of positive reader reviews I’ve had on any book I’ve written.

However, as happens any time a writer begins a new series—spin off or not—I lost sales, ranking and money. Again. And managed to incite a vocal minority who disliked my protagonist’s age.

Q: So, will you stop writing this trilogy?
A: No. I understand a simple fact. Any new series I begin will initially suffer a similar drop off. We all have our comfort zones. We like to revisit the same world, sink down on the same comfy Chestefield in front of the gas fireplace in Barrons Books & Baubles beneath a mural I still haven’t revealed, and be assured a cataclysmic force of nature will walk through the door at some point and rock our world. When Harry Potter ended, I wouldn’t have wanted to read about Hermione’s adventures. At first. Eventually, I would have loved it just as much because JK Rowling is a wonderfully imaginative writer, I adore the universe she created and am hungry for alternate viewpoints of her world.

But writers can get trapped in their own never-ending series that sputter and fizzle long before they stop taking up space on the bookshelves.

It’s not confortable (in fact it’s damned unnerving) to go from being number 1 on the NYT (thank you fans for putting SHADOWFEVER there) making a predictable income to saying—this is what I’m going to do next for love of the story, believing it will ultimately be more satisfying for the readers, knowing I’ll take a hit, financially and via reader enthusiasm.

The simple fact is the most profitable, assured-of-success book I could have written after SF would have been a re-telling of Mac’s story from JZB’s point of view. I was offered a great deal of money for it.

The second most profitable, safe thing to do would have been to say simply: I’ve decided to keep telling Mac’s story and we will next publish Fever # 6, 7, 8, 9, 99 ad nauseum, oh, wait, ad infinitum. Those were safe bets. Those were nice hits for my bank account. They were guaranteed to sell. A new trilogy? Risk compounded by obstacle multiplied by uncertain success.

Yet there I’d be: trapped in my own never-ending series, bored, with my reader growing increasingly bored, watching myself lose passion for what I do. Life is short and complicated and then you die. The only thing you really own is what you do while you’re headed that way.

Many of the readers that didn’t want to take a risk on the new series emailed to tell me why:

1. They felt reading ICED was tantamount to admitting the ‘real’ FEVER series was over. They weren’t ready to say goodbye yet.

2. They didn’t want to read about Dani. They wanted to read about Mac. Or Barrons. Or Christian. Or the boring, celibate old woman in Galway that sits home and crochets by the fire. Anyone but Dani.

3. They had no interest in a young protagonist. They didn’t want to read about someone their daughter’s age. They wanted a mature heroine with a lot of mature sex. I understand that. There’s plenty of it out there. Unfortunately, I didn’t write it. Or fortunately, depending on how you view it.

4. They prefer I write individual romance novels for each of the Nine. I can put this to rest. Sorry. The Nine just don’t work that way.

That being said: passion, sex, love infuse pretty much everything all of us do. It makes us excited to wake up, exhilarated to hit the sheets, or floor, or stepladder in the stacks of the library where trying to keep quiet becomes a fun and forbidden sport. It’s not merely the icing on the cake, some days—those are the best—it’s the cake, the plate and the table under it, hell the whole floor we walk on. There will always be a firestorm of lust and love at the core of every story I tell. Did I deliver with Mac and Barrons? I hope you think so. Will I with Dani? As good or better.

Q. Is there sex in BURNED? 
A. I’ve pulled no punches in BURNED—after all, there is that title to live up to. The sex is hotter, more primal, there’s more of it happening, and there are enormous consequences for some of it that does. I adore exploring consequences for sex that shouldn’t have been.

Q: OMG, does that mean Dani—
A: I’m not talking about consequences for a 14 year old. Please park the “pedo” wagon around someone else’s campfire. There isn’t any in ICED. Or BURNED. Or FLAYED. I would never write about, condone, romanticize something so awful, and those of you who’ve been reading me for years know that.

Is there sexuality and sensuality in ICED that takes place in the vicinity of a protagonist who is young and mostly oblivious? Yes. Does the moment that Ryodan goes hunting for her because she’s late for work, finds her bunked down on a ship and wakes her have any sexual purpose in it? Not a drop. Does anyone get hot over the skull and crossbones on her bra and panties? No. Someone is ‘charmed.’ Does Ryodan lust after Dani in ICED? Absolutely not. There are three very different males who see the woman she will one day be and are invested in that future woman in many ways, sex being the least of them. One of them has lived so long that, like the Fae, a few centuries are nothing to him, a decade a mere blink of an eye. As he says in BURNED: “You hunt for the best, the brightest, the strongest…and when you find one that shines like the sun, you do everything in your power to make certain that light never goes out.” Are they grooming her? No. They’re trying to make sure she does one thing: survive. Dani can’t be ‘groomed.” She doesn’t have the temperament. Simply protecting her—something many are actually trying to do—won’t work. She’s unpredictable, rash as any teen and gifted in just about everything. Mac is a wild card. Dani is a wild card on steriods. A far bigger concern is that Rowena turned her into an assassin at the age of nine. Was Ryodan hard on her in ICED? Yes. Ryodan knows things about Dani you don’t know yet and there are reasons for all of it.

Q: Whose POV is BURNED told from?
A: Multiple first person points of view. Mac. Dani. Christian. Someone you haven’t met yet. A few others you have. Lor. Yes, I did say Lor and since you’ve been so terrific, waiting while I tell the story the way I need to, check back tomorrow for an excerpt from his POV on my FB page!

Q: How old is Dani in BURNED?
A: 19

Q: Was this a concession for the irritated reader?
A: The only one I made. I’ll likely compensate by finding other ways to irritate the reader. :) (I’d planned for her to be 17.)

Q: Does Dani have sex, sex, sex? Is it with Ryodan who we aren’t even sure we like or Christian who you screwed up by turning Unseelie Prince or Dancer who’s now going to be too young? Argh! You’re ruining my story!
A: You’ll have to read it to find out how I ruin it this time.

Q: Is Dublin still iced in BURNED?
A: No. The Dublin we all know and love comes back to life in BURNED.

Q: How many more FEVER books do you have planned? 
A: Originally I was going to write three books in this trilogy followed by two more Mac & Barrons books, but after deliberation, I decided to combine all five into this trilogy. So, two more FEVER books right now: BURNED and FLAYED, merging the original five-book story-arc.

Q: When will BURNED be released?
A: January 2015. I’m sorry about that. I’d hoped to get it done sooner but couldn’t. My heart and soul are in it, and I think you’ll see that. I love it more than anything I’ve ever written and can’t wait for you to read it.

Monday, January 27, 2014

BURNED Release Date, Book Launch Party & Ryodan’s Face

There’ve been rumblings lately—I’m beginning to think you guys are psychic, or perhaps like Dani, you’re sleuthing for clues such as my not announcing the date/place for the launch party—about whether BURNED is really coming out July 22nd, 2014.

I’ve got good news and bad news.

The good news: I’m having a blast writing BURNED, similar to how I felt when I was writing SHADOWFEVER, in a semi-fugue state. The characters are alive and on fire, the story is coming out exactly as I’d planned, and with even more intensity than I’d expected. There’s no doubt in my mind you’re going to love it.

The bad news: BURNED’s release date has been pushed back one final time. The new date is January 2015. The precise day is still being decided (right now it’s the 20th but that may change by a week either way) and as soon as we can, we’ll announce the dates and location for the big bash.

More good news: if BURNED had been released July 22, I was not going to be able to do a book launch party. Now I am.

As I’m sure you’ve realized by my not announcing the book launch date, I was concerned it might get moved again. And I’m sure you want to know why.

I took time off.

Why? I needed it. I won’t go into details of my personal life but I will say while I could have kept pushing, short-term gratification doesn’t yield the kind of long term goals I‘m after and sometimes pushing costs more than it yields, so I did what I needed to do: walked away, rested and got recharged.

It wasn’t an easy decision to make. I love to write. I miss the interaction with you guys when I don’t. I get paid when I write. But I will always put the quality of my writing, and of my life over my bank account. I won’t put out a book that doesn’t meet my standards

I’m back and beyond excited to take you deeper into the Fever world in all the ways you want. BURNED is sexier, has more points of view, including one of the Nine (and not just a few snippets) and is all around hotter in every way, as you’d expect from the title.

A final bit of good news: I’ve never given you a good verbal ‘look’ at Ryodan. Many of you have written to tell me that Stuart Reardon (beautiful man and terrific athlete!) is your vision of Ryodan and I’ve promoted him for you, although I’ve always considered him one of my other immortal badasses.

But I’ve never shared my personal vision of the mysterious, sexy owner of Chester's nightclub (where the privileged few get to visit level 4!) because I didn’t feel I could adequately convey what I see when I close my eyes and begin to structure one of his scenes.

Then I stumbled across Anthony James Hill and was stunned to find the match to the face I’ve been seeing in my head for years. Those eyes, that mouth…

This is my Ryodan, photographed by the fabulous
 Michael Stokes Photography and Gilles Crofta.

Drop by
 Anthony James Hill's page and welcome him to the Fever World!

As for BURNED, I’m truly sorry I couldn’t bring it to you faster. If I could have, I would. I can only tell you I think you’re going to find it absolutely worth the wait.

Stay to the lights,

Friday, January 17, 2014

BURNED!!! Your first Dani teaser!

A man steps out.

Strong. Brilliant. Controlled.



He's everything I admire plus things I can't even put into words.

I crush on Jericho Barrons violently.

My brain almost shuts down every time I see him and that's a lot of gray matter to stupefy.

Used to be, if I couldn't fall asleep I'd fantasize all kinds of ways I'd impress Barrons by killing monsters or saying something really smart or saving the world, and he'd see me as a grown up woman and I'd glow just from the look on his face.

But then Ryodan began popping into my fantasies like he had some kind of business being there, and he'd look all, well...like...Ryodan and he'd laugh and do that husky groan thing he did on level four, so I terminated that happy little exercise in somnolence.

Now I count sheep.

Lately even those buggers look like Ryodan with clear, cold eyes and some weird kind of hypnotic hold on me.


I'm beginning to think I'm going to have to figure out a way to kill him, permanent-like just to get him out of my head.

© 2014 Karen Marie Moning