Painting my own demise...
Today I've got a new #wildshortread that'll leave you panting for more, an exclusive PNR book to devour, and plenty of other juicy morsels you don't want to miss.
Greetings, friends and fellow book devourers.
Who’s ready to devour a sizzling short story?! It’s time for my next installment of WILD SHORT READS. In honor of my recent trip to NZ, this short work is about a shy little kiwi embracing her second chance at life and the two predators hot on her tail that are determined to claim their fated mate.
(Keep scrolling to read this exclusive MIRI AND THE MUSE morsel a bit further down.)
First up, I have a SIZZLING free book for you…
This month, my dear friend—
—is offering my subscribers the chance to nab their own forever copy of her amazing paranormal MC romance, AUTUMN CURSES. This is an enemies-to-lovers featuring witches and dragons you don’t want to miss!
Stuck on either side of the shifter and witch divide is only the first problem Sophie and Fenrir have when it comes to sealing their fated mate bond.
Sophie Hayden is a witch and a small town store owner, specializing in all things occult. With the supernatural recently open to the public, you would think that Occult Books would be a popular place. Sadly, in rural Maine opinions are slightly less than favorable and Sophie becomes desperate for any form of income to save the shop her mother left to her. Her rental advertisement is answered by rough and ready Fenrir, looking for a place to lay low.
Fenrir Dryden is a dragon shifter and has spent his long life just on the wrong side of the law. His motorcycle club—Hell’s Fire MC—deals in illegal magical goods. But rival MC the Devil Demons catch wind of his latest run, catching up with him in New York, forcing him to go into hiding. Finding himself at Occult Books, he negotiates his way into renting Sophie’s spare apartment.
Can these two fated mates overcome their differences and find love, or are they destined to stand apart because of the laws keeping them apart?
Before we dive into my next WILD SHORT READ, I wanna know… Which trope should I write next?
PAINTING MY OWN DEMISE
By Miri Stone
A #wildshortread hosted by MIRI AND THE MUSE
With sweat dripping down my forehead and the sting of chemicals still burning in my nostrils, I stepped back to survey my work. It took a moment for my gaze to sharpen on current reality. Seeing what I’d created, however, I scoffed and swiped impatiently at my brow, leaving a glistening streak of color on my skin.
When I painted, I did so with my whole body.
Bare-foot and dressed in nothing but a singlet top and a splattered pair of overalls, I moved in a combination of sweeping motions and frantic flicks, detailed etchings and gross exaggerations. Years of paint stained the rugged floorboards and walls of my private sanctuary. Much like me, this ancient hut clung to the rocky coastline, eking out its defiant existence. Yet, for far too long, I’d given up all of that fierce freedom, bending over backwards to meet the expectations of my controlling ex. Now it felt as if the little pieces of my soul previously scattered to the winds were slowly settling back in my center.
One bright spark at a time.
I never used to know what I was going to paint, I simply fell into the river of creation and reemerged once the work was done. These days, however, I couldn’t seem to move past this infuriating obsession. An idea so absurd I’d laughed outright the first time it had appeared on my canvas. Now all I could do was scowl, hands on my hips, as I glared at the exquisite imagining.
Oh, Katie, breathed my inner kiwi who—as a precocious child—I’d named Sarsaparilla. This one is beautiful. I wish you’d let me hang it in the old farmstead.
You have to be joking, I snapped. Do you want to give dad a heart attack?
It was a fantasy. Nothing more. Neither of the men featured so prominently in this portrait were even remotely in my league. Worse still, both were dangerous in their own right. One could literally suck out my life force while I sang a hallelujah, and the other would gobble me up in my shifted form as a tasty snack.
Unfortunately, although the scenario itself was fictional, the subjects were all too real. As part of my second chance at life, I’d gone back to art school where I’d met Charlie. The siren had immediately taken me under his wing when I’d nearly run away from a lecture hall full of strangers. He’d welcomed me into his bubble and, after giving me a healthy dose of side-eye, the other students had filed me in their minds under ‘weird sidekick’ rather than competition. My boisterous friend was still a terrible flirt, of course, but he never used his lure on me.
Much to my inner kiwi’s dismay.
In the painting, a gloriously naked Charlie was sitting on a four poster bed engulfed in a luxurious sea of slate-grey sheets and pillows which brought out the color of his eyes. The linen was artfully draped over his lap but did nothing to hide his ardor while he fisted the sheets and looked right off the canvas to stare boldly at me.
The observer.
Standing on his other side was the grumpy bastard I’d rather not think too closely about. Rudolf Favreau was always trying to hold me back at the end of class. If I’d known the famous sculptor planned to take such a keen interest in my studies, I would’ve requested a new supervisor.
Cloaked in his customary tweed jacket and snug fitting slacks, the fifty-something-year-old had his back to me and was trailing an elegant hand down Charlie’s naked bicep. The caress was decidedly intimate and got me all hot under the collar about possibilities I could not—would not—linger on.
Instead, I turned a critical eye on the work itself.
“What do you think, Sassy?” I mused aloud. “Did we get his eyes right this time?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when a whiskey voice answered, “It’s good, but it could be better.”
Spinning on my heel, I glared at the intruder. “What are you doing here?”
Mr Favreau stood just inside the door, heel cocked up against the wall like he’d been there some time. He wasn’t alone, either. Charlie was on the other side of the door, but the siren’s expression was shuttered. Haunted, almost.
“Perhaps Katherine would benefit from a real life model.” An air of smugness exuded from his stern features as his dark gaze roamed my portrait. “Charlie?”
Finally, breathed Sarsaparilla. I knew they couldn’t stay away forever.
Don’t, I growled at her. The only thing these two plan on doing is making you dinner.
If only, my kiwi sighed dreamily, ruffling her feathers.
“This is private property,” I groused. “There are rules about stalking students, you know.”
The famous sculptor ignored me as he cast a cursory glance around the humble shack and no doubt found it lacking. “We don’t have a grand bed—not here, at least—but we’ll make do.”
Told you, Sarsaparilla chortled.
My heart leapt into my throat at the mention of a bed and my scent shifted. Need permeated the air and I took a step backward. The fox shifter’s nose twitched, just once, and his lips ticked upward.
“Guess I should have listened to the grumpy bastard,” Charlie chuckled ruefully. The decadent sound traveled down my veins and set my blood on fire. “You nearly had me fooled, short stuff.” The siren straightened up, gaze boring into mine. “Thought you hadn’t noticed us at all.”
“Of course I noticed you,” I grumbled at the class heartthrob, rolling my eyes and resisting the urge to hide my flaming cheeks. Backing up another step, I tired to ignore the fact that I was heading in the direction of the foldaway queen bed, tucked up against the wall. There was a window next to it which was missing a pane of glass. If I shifted into my other form and hopped up on the dresser, Sarsaparilla could squeeze through the gap in a pinch. Desperate times and all that. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Charlie’s eyes flashed at my choice of words but didn’t comment, merely tipped his chin in agreement.
“And I get the feeling Mr High-and-Mighty over there is a control freak.” I thought back over my months of infuriatingly single-minded paintings and huffed. “The pair of you are kinda hard to forget. Bit of a nightmare, really.”
“Nightmare?” Charlie laughed outright before he sobered and shook his head at my word choice. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” The siren sent a pointed look at the silver fox. “One at a time, don’t you think? Give our girl a chance to get acclimated. We both know you like to be clear-headed when the nightmare comes out to play.”
Charlie was trying to be lighthearted and tease his companion but I didn’t miss the dark countenance rolling briefly over his face.
Without a word, Mr Favreau shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the back of the handmade chair in the kitchenette. Then he turned that chair around, ripped out his belt with a loud thwack—causing me to flinch and my breath to come in short, sharp bursts—as he hitched up his pant legs before sitting down.
Belt laying over his lap, he rested his hands calmly on his knees.
Watching, expectantly.
My mouth dried up as he stared me down.
“You should call me Rudolf, Katherine,” he murmured. “We are about to move beyond such formalities.”
Charlie reached up and over his head to tug off his sweatshirt. As he did so, his lure—bold and wanton—rolled out into the room. My world tipped upside down and my legs threatened to give way as his lean torso rippled into existence, just as I’d imagined it. His magic stroked and curled in invitation along every nerve ending it could reach.
I felt exposed and desperate, caught between begging him to strip bare and knowing I should turn tail and run. “Wh—what formalities?”
“Your scent has been tormenting us all semester.” The siren’s voice had dropped an octave as his lure continued to lick against my flesh. “Tonight, mate, we will banish whatever demon put that darkness in your eyes.”
[“PAINTING MY OWN DEMISE” written by Miri Stone © 2024. All rights reserved.]
BOOK NOOK: A smorgasboard of juicy books…
One of these is a book fair where lots of awesome books by talented authors are dying to catch your eye… and the other is a juicy list of sizzling romantascy and paranormal romance books which you can download for FREE and start devouring today.
Each time you go and check out one of these book fairs, it helps boost my visibility as an indie author—putting my books in front of new-to-me readers—so I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy day to visit these tasty offerings. <3
Who’s coming to my upcoming signing, LOVE ON THE BEACH? Only a few weeks to go… eek!
Special Editions, signed paperbacks and specialty swag are all up for grabs at my next book signings… Am I going to see you there?!
Happy reading, friends and fellow book devourers.
With love,
M.S. xox
That flash fiction was 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 I love seeing you create
Saw you were looking for a tie-breaker. I stand by my original vote: only one bed! Intimacy-adjacent forced closeness! The nerves, the simmering feels, the inevitable spark! It's damn tasty is what I'm saying. 😁