Normal For The Spider

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His reputation precedes him. To many, Thorne is the devil, to others, he’s worse. For Heather, he’s the latter. A so-called creator of darkness winds up naked in her front yard, and before she knows it, she's showing him the ways of a world he's never experienced. Or so he says. But she's pretty sure he just escaped from the asylum two towns over.

Romance / Fantasy
A.L. Eden
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

“There’s a naked guy in my yard.” Heather’s eyes furrowed as she took a big puff off her orange and white striped smoke bowl.

She pulled her black hoodie over her head.

“Drunk or dead?” Amy’s voice asked from the phone pressed to her ear.

“Probably both.” She blew out a cloud of smoke.

The possibly dead body had a nice backside, muscled in all its glory, and she kind of wondered what the face had to offer. Granted, his skin was caked in mud and leaves.

“I guess I should go roll it over,” Heather said, placing the bowl on the small table and getting up from the lounge chair with a stretch. “I’ll call you back.”

“Okay, I’ll be off in thirty minutes so I’ll see you then.”

After hanging up, Heather stuffed her phone in the pocket of her jeans and stepped off the porch. His body lay thirty-feet away and only an inch off the dirt road. The cricket chirps echoed and the frogs screeched with an incessant tune, and the few other trailers down the road set quietly.

For two in the morning, the small road was a little too quiet. Usually, someone was having a party on a Friday night. In fact, the naked guy probably wandered down here from one. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The closer she came to the man, the more she ogled. At least this one wasn’t crackhead Billy two streets over. This guy was built. Biceps the size of her thighs. Jesus, she wondered if a God had fallen from the skies.

“Hey, dude.” She nudged his ribcage with her black biker boot. “Hey, you’re naked in my yard, buddy.”

The growl she heard did not deter her from putting her boot back on his side and nudging him one more time. One minute, she was standing above him and the next naked dude was gripping her ankle and pulling her to the ground. With a roll, he was above her, his rough hand squeezing her throat like a measly grape.

Blazing yellow eyes stared at her, wild and a bit crazed. But they blazed. Brilliantly. However, his mouth set in a cruel line, as if a smile had never settled on his face. If he hadn’t been constricting the air out of her lungs, she would have reveled in his beauty. Her hands clawed at his one and pushed and hit at his hard chest.

“Please,” she gasped out, her throat burning.

The man’s eyes softened a fraction and his hand loosened. His head dipped and his nose touched her cheek . . . and, like some primal dog, he sniffed. The son of a bitch sniffed her.

“Do all you mortals smell this pleasant?”

“Huh?” she croaked.

“I wonder if you taste just as good,” his mutter came out in a hateful tone.

And then it happened—sharp pain shot up the side of her neck and faded into a strange and lulling feeling that pulled at her insides, twisted the butterflies that suddenly sprung in her chest. As if possessed, her body writhed against the naked guy.

When she came back from wherever she went, the crazy, naked dude—yeah, the guy that had been choking the shit out of her—he vanished like a deer in a sea of trees. She blinked, rubbing her throat and sitting up, but instead of pushing up from the grass, she lay on the floor of her living room. She pulled her fingers from her neck, and blood ran down them onto her palm.

The door to the bathroom creaked and out stepped the naked dude, wet and disheveled, drying his face with a hand towel and nothing covering the rest of him. He threw the towel down and glanced her way.

“Don’t worry, mortal. I won’t kill you just yet.” The deep voice that came out of him nearly seduced her back to oblivion. He swiped his tongue over his lips, and pointed his finger at her, “I like the way you taste. And I like to keep a snack handy.”

“What the hell are you?” A vampire? Dracula?

“It’s not what I am. It is who I am. And who I am is a man searching for his father.” He walked into the living room, towering over her. “And you’re going to help me find him.”

He must have escaped from the asylum fifty miles down the road, and obviously, he had Hannibal Lector qualities. But the crazy vampire-wannabe was apparently the asylum’s number one in body-building. She scrambled to get up too fast, and the world tilted beneath her feet. An arm clasped around her before she could fall headfirst into the TV.

“How big is this realm?” he asked, shaking her back to reality.

“What—what do you mean?”

“This dimension—how big is it?”

“Real big, I . . . I guess.”

He tossed her on the couch. “Well, you’re close to useless.”

“You must be a peasant.” He put his hands on his bare hips and looked around the trailer. “Who’s your king?”

“Uh, no one.”

The look he gave—it said she was downright stupid. “The ruler of this world—who is he?”

“There isn’t a sole ruler. You’re in America where the president is Donald Trump. And I don’t think you wanna talk to him. He’s a walking Cheeto.”

“A Cheeto?”

“A Cheeto.”

“Hmm. Well, I’d doubt your leader would know where my father is.”

“What’s his name?”

“Lucifer.” Oh, fuck, this guy was looney tunes.

She strained to suppress her smile. “Well, I got a Ouija board.”

“The board of Ouija. Yes, you mortals used to like to summon me with that.” His eyes flashed to her throat. “Why hasn’t your wound healed yet? Are you broken?”

“Did you bite me?”

“Yes, and you seemed to like it. You were rubbing your body against mine and moaning.”

She rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt that!" Except she didn't.

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