…I love you all so, so much! Thank you so much for your support ❤
…I love you all so, so much! Thank you so much for your support ❤
So, remember a few weeks back when I was having issues commenting on people’s posts? Well…it seems it’s only certain people’s posts :S Like half my comments go through and half don’t? I’ve looked in my settings and can’t see anything amiss. It’s so frustrating 😦
*sighs* So much for an early night.
Helena peaked out the window from behind the curtains, anxiety a knot in the pit of her stomach. The beam of the solitary street lamp showed nothing aside from the neighbour’s cat licking its arse on the hood of a parked car. She swallowed, the motion painful in her suddenly dry throat. She threw a glance at the clock on the wall and began to pace nervously, up and down, up and down. Where was he? He should have been there ten minutes ago and her husband, Greg, was due home in the next fifteen. Even if he arrived now she’d have to bundle him into the back yard and through the kitchen door. She simply couldn’t risk Greg seeing him. The truth would destroy the foundation of trust their fifteen years of marriage had been built upon. Well, initially anyway.
Another glance at the clock. Two minutes had passed. Helena could feel the heat rising in her face, no doubt colouring her cheeks in spatters of pink. This always happened when she was angry, scared or frustrated. Or all three, as she was now. She needed this, though. This…this bit on the side. This release. It was the only thing that kept her sane in the humdrum of the everyday life she shared with Greg.
Was that the purr of an engine? She raced to the front door, yanking it open before the car had even come to a stop outside the house. The engine cut out and the driver’s door opened. The man who emerged had guilt scrawled upon his face. He knew – goddamn it, he knew – how important punctuality was, especially tonight, a Friday night, when Greg might have left work early. He mouthed “Sorry!” as he jogged up the drive, his bag bouncing against his hip with the movement.
Helena opened her mouth to speak, to tell him to shut up and quit wasting more time…but before the words could pass her lips, there was a flash of headlights as another car came rolling up the street. No, she shook her head, backing up towards the house. No!
His car, a beat up old thing that had barely passed its MOT, came to a halt in the middle of the street. With its engine still running and headlights still beaming, the door creaked open and Greg, almost as creaky himself, hoisted himself upwards and out of his seat. The look on his face said it all. He knew. There was no lying her way out of this. They’d been discovered. There’d be no more secret rendezvous. There’d be no more bi-weekly fifteen minutes of illicit pleasure.
“Helena?” said Greg, his tone scorched by disbelief, “What is this? What are you doing? I knew something wasn’t right between us but…but I never imagined this!”
She surveyed her husband, a portly, ruddy-faced man who could have graced the cover of GQ when they had first met all those years ago. Guilt gnawed away at her but she couldn’t deny her feelings. She glanced up at the comparatively taller, much leaner man before her.
“Just give it to me,” she said, her voice a husky murmur, “Just give it to me dammit.”
“How long, Helena?” Greg cried, barrelling towards them and shoving himself between their bodies, “Weeks, months? Tell me! How could you do this? We were meant to be in this together!”
She gazed into his glistening eyes sadly and raised her hand to cup his cheek. He jerked away with a hiss, almost as though her almost touch had burnt. She curled the offending hand, using her fist to muffle the anguished cry that erupted from her soul.
“A year!” she sobbed, “A whole year! I needed it. I was weak. I couldn’t help myself!”
Greg whirled around and grappled with the man behind him. After a tense few seconds of shouting and slapping, the man’s bag fell to the pavement and its contents spilled out for all to see.
“Pizza! Pizza!” Greg shrieked as he stamped upon the offending box furiously, spittle flying from his mouth. The delivery man backed away, his hands raised in surrender.
“Go!” Helena wailed, “Flee while you can!”
He didn’t need telling twice as he promptly swivelled and dived head first into his car. The engine roared into life and the squeal of tires upon tarmac announced his departure.
“All this time,” Greg hissed, still kicking at the pizza box, “All this time you’ve been making me salads and grilled fish and lecturing me about diabetes and you’ve been munching down secret takeaway pizzas for a year!”
Helena, tears coursing down her cheeks, knelt down and tried to pull the box out from beneath his feet. It was too tortuous to watch. It had cost her a fiver! She wrenched it free, peeling back the lid as Greg raged on. She sighed. Slightly smushed but edible. His boots hadn’t infiltrated the cardboard.
She shrieked as the box was pulled from her grasp and watched in horror as Greg began tearing the pizza apart, piece by piece, and shovelling it into his mouth. Stringy cheese coated his face and the sauce, barbecue – her favourite – smeared itself around his lips like a grotesque imitation of lipstick.
Helena stared at her husband, hoping to God that marriage counsellors were as cheap as pizzas.
Let’s say tomorrow you find yourself in this situation. What would be your fictional heaven and what would be your fictional hell? And, of course, you have to give reasons 😉
*gingerly knocks on your front door, my suitcase clutched in one hand and my other poised to knock again* C’mon, open up, it’s getting dark and creepy…*dons my most beaming smile as you finally open the front door* Hiiiiiiiiiiii! Oh gosh, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes. You are looking so damn gorgeous today. Not that you don’t usually. You are, in fact, the most beautiful person I have ever encountered in my life, both inside and out. Forget what I said about Illium, it’s totally you and- *sees your raised eyebrow and what-do-you-want face* Am I going overboard? Ha. Yeah. Sorry. Um. So…shall we be housemates!? Think about it. We’d have such a good time! Movie nights, pamper sessions with face masks and nail painting…plus, most importantly, I won’t be teleported around the globe against my will every time you have a goddamn date. If I just, I don’t know, stayed here it would make my life so, so much easier. You could just say “Yo, Jazz. Date tonight. Be ready in an hour?” and I could, like, not end up in ropy bars in my PJs or smack bang in the middle of New York in a bath towel? Haha. Am I rambling? *sees the confused look on your face* Excellent! *pushes past you and steps into your house* So we’re in agreement then? Ooo fancy place you got here. Where’s my room? Where’s the fridge? I’ll need a spare cupboard for my teabags too. Do you have a bath? I also brought my guinea pig. Can he have his own room? Do you have any pets?
Two hours and much negotiating later
*gently sips tea and nods my head in a sage-like manner* Yes, I completely agree. Being just friends with both Elena and Raphael is probably best. Those two rascals are psycho magnets. You’d be dead within a week. So you’ve opted to take Dev for a test drive, eh? A mysterious, slightly overbearing vampire lord might be just what you’re looking for *checks time* You say he’s picking you up in half an hour? Well, I best get cracking *clears throat* Date nights with Dev will probably/definitely include:
*door bell sounds* Ah that must be him *smiles contently and leans back in your armchair* Have fun! Tell me all about if…I mean, when you get home *blows you a kiss and picks up one of your magazines*
I used to hate Sundays when I was a teenager. To me, they were the most boring day of the week. It was the day all the stores closed early. It was the day preceding what was usually a long and stressful week at school. It was the day I had to complete any outstanding assignments. It was, quite honestly, a day I dreaded.
But now, nearing my mid twenties, I relish the thought of Sundays. Sure, I did work this morning…but then I had the rest of the day to simply do nothing. And. It. Felt. Great! I’ve had such a wonderful afternoon/evening of nothing. I cooked myself a good ol’ hearty Sunday roast (a tradition for us Brits) and tucked in while watching Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, which, by the way, totally caught me off guard with its ending and had me bawling my eyes out for a solid ten minutes. No spoilers but dayum, that movie had me crying more than Titanic did.
How was your day? What does your typical Sunday entail?
Surrendering is the first book in K.L. Krieg’s Regent Vampire Lords series and I decided to read it upon the recommendation of…wait for it…Facebook. I’ve noticed little ads or suggested author pages popping up in my news feed over the past two or three months and while I’m always happy to receive suggestions for my next read, I find it somewhat creepy that Mark Zuckerberg and his team monitor my page likes to this extent. Oh well.
Kate Martin dreams dreams that are far from ordinary. She dreams of real life people in real life scenarios. She dreams of real life kidnapped people in real life kidnap scenarios more specifically. Having been plagued by the same disturbing vision for two weeks, Kate decides that enough is enough. She simply cannot ignore her instincts and allow another missing woman to fade into obscurity.
When she steps into her local police station, she expects to be dismissed as nothing more than a crackpot. However, she gets more than she bargains for…way more than she bargains for. Kate finds herself pulled irrevocably into a world she hadn’t known existed, a world in which she is suddenly the center of attention from both a crazed, power-hungry vampire and a special investigator, an investigator who is also a vampire lord and claims that she’s his Moira.
His fated one.
Kate, still nursing a past heartache, is determined to keep things ‘casual’, though. While living under Devon’s protection, she finds her determination waning thin. Can their budding relationship survive the threat of Xavier?
Now, this book is well-written and the plot is interesting. In regards to its content, it has some pretty dark themes, themes that manifest themselves in paragraphs that are almost unbearable to read. It’s dark and gritty and makes a refreshing change to the usual good-guys-always-win format that many other paranormal romance books follow. It’s realistic in the sense that it demonstrates how good doesn’t always prevail over evil, how evil has to win a certain amount of times for the good guys to learn from their mistakes and become stronger. Witnessing the heartache and trauma Dev and his people endure – the slaughter of his family, the death of Leo, the abuse that Giselle is subjected to – make for a bittersweet ending.
However…fucking Dev and his appalling lack of tact when faced with highly delicate situations. If I could reach through the pages of any book and physically slap some sense into a character, I would have my hand embedded in Surrendering as quickly as Dev thrust his fingers “to the hilt” in poor Kate’s backside…man, I get that anal play is something many people enjoy…but he doesn’t even warn her *shudder*
Anyway, I digress. Let me give you an examples of said lack of tact; when Dev realizes that Kate is potentially an unblooded vampire, he decides not to gently to sit her down with a warming, comforting cup of tea filled with sugar to prevent her going into shock…oh no. Dev doesn’t work like that. He likes to get straight to the point.
‘”I’m sorry, Kate. I know the last couple of days have been stressful. But there is no doubt you are an unblooded female (Cheers, Dev. Couldn’t have worked that one out on my own) vampire. I’m quite sure that man who raised you as his daughter is not vampire. Just as I’m positive that the woman whom you call mother is not your biological mother. Have your parents ever mentioned you being adopted?”
“Adopted?” She sunk down onto the edge of the bed again, her legs unable to hold her. She whispered, “No. No. That can’t be possible. I’m not adopted.”
This guy tears her world apart in five sentences. Who fucking does that? Has he literally been living in a cave for the five centuries of his existence? This is absolutely not how you break news to someone.
Also deducting points for Dev’s belief that a woman who has a lot of sex must have a loose vagina. Sorry, Dev love, doesn’t work like that. Unless your dick is ten inches wide, there is absolutely no scientific grounding in the sentence “He could tell she’d been thoroughly used, as her pussy wasn’t as snug as some he’d come across.” Slut shaming is an instant turn off, to be honest.
Rating: 2.5 out 5
Song: Steel Panther’s BVS (dedicated to Dev, of course)