Friday, June 26, 2009

snippet #003

The prompt was “Then, hand in hand, they went out onto the balcony to meet the dawn.” for the #Journaling Game.

With summer chaos in full-swing, I didn't have much time to dedicate to this one, but I'm happy with the way it came out. It's very raw, very rough, so very first draft quality. Eventually I'll polish it and expand it. When I do, it'll probably end up on the blue (non-sex/YA/safe-for-my-child-to-read) side of my writing.

Also, I don't normally do vampire stories, but the prompt just begged for it.


"I can't kill you, Nadia. I mean, I could, but I don't want to."

Nadia quirked her lips into a hint of a smile and whispered, "Ditto, Lea."

Leander shook his head and chuckled. "After one hundred and ninety-four ye--"

"Seven," Nadia interjected.


Nadia nodded. "One hundred and ninety-seven years."

Leander frowned. "Are you sure?"

It was Nadia's turn to chuckle. "Yeah, I'm sure. You turned me outside of Petrograd in the spring of 1812."

He frowned deeper, calculating in his head. "One hundred and ninety-four."

Nadia shook her head and sighed. "You never could count. Trust me on this one, my love, it's one-hundred and ninety-seven." She flashed him a charming smile. "A girl may lie about how old she is, but she never forgets."

"Ok, ok. So one hundred and ninety-seven years together, and this is what it comes to." He tipped his head thoughtfully. "What did they offer you?"

Nadia laid her sword on the coffee table and curled into her favorite chair. “If I kill you, I get to live.”

Leander nodded and tossed his machete on the table, dropping onto the couch. “Ditto.” He sighed and ran a hand over his bare scalp. “So, what do we do, Nadia?”

“I don’t know, my love. There aren’t many options open to us, are there?”

“Not really.”

Nadia bowed her head and listened to the minutes tick before uncurling herself from her chair. "If we run, they'll hunt us." She eased on the couch next to him.

Leander wrapped an arm around Nadia and cuddled her close to his side. “They will.”

Snuggling into his embrace, Nadia laid her head on his shoulder. “They want one of us dead.”

“Or both of us.”

Nadia sat still and silent for several minutes before she whispered in agreement, “Or both of us.”

Leander nodded and nuzzled into her hair, murmuring, “Truth be told, my sweet, I’d rather die than continue without you.”

Nadia nodded gently. “Ditto, my love.”

The pair sat holding each other in silence for half an hour before Leander sighed. “Is that the answer then?”

Nadia whispered, “As much as I hate to admit it, yeah, I think so. We either take the matter into our own hands or wait for them to find us.”

“If we make them hunt us, they won’t end it quickly. They’ll take some fun out of us before they kill us.”

Nadia shuddered, her whisper little more than a growl. “I’d rather not give them the satisfaction.”

“Ditto," Leander muttered, pulling her closer to his side.


Leander caressed Nadia's cheek and whispered, "It's time, my sweet."

Nadia squinted at the light of the morning sun coming through the open french doors. Barely nodding, she whispered with a tremor in her voice. "I'm scared."

Leander wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, brushing his lips across her forehead. "I know."

"There's no other way..."

He shook his head. "There's no other way." Turning her face toward him with a finger on her chin, he looked into the watery dark eyes that had captivated him nearly two hundred years earlier. "I wish there were. I promised you eternity. I'm sorry I wasn't able to give it to you."

A tear slipped from each eye when Nadia blinked. "Oh, no, Leander, don't be." She reached up to cup his stubbled jaw in her hand. "You gave me more years than I could have hoped for."

Leander leaned close and savored a tender taste of her lips, then wrapped her in his arms. The little kiss bloomed, growing deeper but remaining slow and tender, until it became what it was intended to be: one last kiss.

Tears streaked Nadia's cheeks when they pulled apart and laced their fingers together. Then, hand in hand, they went out onto the balcony to meet the dawn.

Love and bondage,
Rubi Jayne <3<3

Thursday, June 11, 2009

snippet #002

The prompt was “The empty spaces within her ached to be filled.” for the Return of the #Journalling #Journaling Game

Naturally, my Muse went to a dark place. No clue where this was going, or where it came even from. Though, I do know that there's a Lila...somewhere... in the story. Somewhere... not... here.

So totally first draft.

Comments welcomed.


"Everything would be ok if he were dead."

Charlotte hugged herself and pressed her forehead against the window with a faint sigh. She was too ashamed to admit she'd thought the same thing for years, and there was Brock putting voice to her thoughts. Again.

"Charlie, you're not focusing," Brock chided gently.

Not focusing, Charlotte thought, on killing my husband. Right. She shivered against a cold chill spreading through her body and wondered briefly if the conversation or the contact with the glass caused it.

"Charlie," Brock paused then sighed audibly and started again with a hint of frustration in his voice. "Honey, I know this is hard, but we gotta figure out what you're going to do."

Charlotte resisted the urge to turn and scream at her long-time friend, taking out all her frustrations, anger, and fears on him. It would do her no good and he didn't deserve the hysterics or the shrewish lashing. He was only trying to help. Instead, she watched her two children dashing through the snow, hurling snowballs at each other. They deserved better, too.

Behind her, a chair scraped across the floor and she tensed. Please don't go. Please don't go. Please don't go.

"Charlie, look at me."

Charlotte didn't turn. She couldn't. She couldn't look at Brock and see the pity swelling in his chocolate brown eyes when he looked at her bruised and battered face, couldn't handle disgust that flickered across the surface. Again.


She felt the warmth of his chest pressed to her back, felt the strength of his embrace, felt the brush of his breath on her battered cheek. She closed her eyes against the swell of emotions making her chest tight.

"You keep telling me it's getting better, but it's not, honey. It's getting worse and I'm afraid Kevin's going to either kill you or turn on the kids one of these days."

Fear surged up Charlotte's spine and her eyes snapped open. Her gaze darted in search for her children in the snow-covered yard and she breathed a sigh of relief only after she found them. She leaned back against Brock a little. She missed being touched, missed talking, missed sharing. The empty spaces within her ached to be filled - physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Charlie, honey," Brock whispered, his voice strained with what sounded almost like fear, "look at them. Look at James. He's growing up, Charlie. He was so angry when he called me this time, and feeling guilty, too. He sees what's happening. He's been seeing it all along. 'I shoulda been here, Uncle Brock. I shoulda been here to stop him.' That's what he told me. What happens if he's here the next time and does try to step in? What happens then, Charlie?"

Tears welled up in Charlotte's eyes, the image of her 13-year-old son playing in the snow with his little sister growing blurry. His gangly body was only just starting to fill out. He wouldn't be a match for his father.

"And look at Marie," Brock whispered roughly against her ear. "She's already starting to change. How much longer before she's full on into puberty, Charlie? What happens when Kevin notices?"

Charlotte stiffened against Brock. Oh, no, she thought. Kevin would never do something so horrific... Her gaze shifted from Marie to her own reflection in the window. Lifting a hand to her face, she brushed her fingertips across the split not yet scabbing on her swollen lower lip, moved them over the tender cheekbone, then up to the dark purple and murky blue skin that covered her swollen left eye. Oh, God. Is that me? Oh, God, he would. He has.

Charlotte shifted her gaze to her children, back to her reflection in the window, then back to her children again. She lingered against Brock for a moment longer, savoring the closeness that didn't come with verbal or physical abuse, then stiffed her spine and pulled away. "Brock," Charlotte whispered hoarsely, "please go tell my children to come inside and pack what they can't live without. We're leaving."


Love and bondage,
Rubi Jayne <3<3