Becky Flade, Author

             Jocelyn answered the door without looking through the peephole. It never occurred to her that Gabriel would ring the bell. When she pulled it wide and saw him standing there, her heart galloped against her ribcage. She found it curious that it wasn’t fear making her pulse race. Belatedly she remembered he knew her thoughts as well as she did. “Why are you here?” She asked aloud. “Why do you insist on using your voice when you know it is unnecessary?” “Gabriel, I know that my particular affliction isn’t common. How do you communicate with other humans?” She refused to speak with him telepathically. She was human, even if he was not. “The same way I’m communicating with you.” His exasperation moved through her. “Can I come in?” She didn’t invite him, nor did she move to allow him access to her home. “How is it they don’t notice that your lips aren’t moving?” “I plant the suggestion that they are. Humans...

             H HHH e wasn’t happy to have them in his home uninvited. That was a safeguard only provided to the living unfortunately. He was less happy that they had supped on his staff. It took time to carefully screen and vet discrete domestic servants. However, Gabriel was enraged that they had come to threaten Jocelyn. He didn’t know how they’d learned of her; it was a minor detail and it didn’t matter at this point. What did matter was that she was in danger. Masking his emotions would be a useless exercise; they were as skilled psychics as he was the eldest, Franco, likely more so. They knew. “She should have been dealt with the first night she became aware of your nature. Why have you delayed?” Franco asked. “I wish her for a companion.” “You want a mate.” Gabriel shrugged as though there were no difference. In truth, the difference was quite significant. Admitting he wanted to take Jocelyn as a mat...

Gabriel ached. He hadn’t anticipated the strength of her will. Jocelyn was still denying them both what was clearly destined.   He hadn’t anticipated how tormented he would also be by the images he’d been sending her. It had not occurred to him that he would take her visage and the lingering fragments of the dioramas he had weaved into his slumber with him upon every dawn. While he rested his vivid imagination ran wild with lust and blood the likes of which would have terrified Jocelyn. The effect on Gabriel was intensely opposite.   He awoke painfully aroused and starving for blood. He fed, he must in order to survive, but he only took just enough to sustain and left every ‘volunteer’ with a happy memory of the encounter. But he was not happy; the blood tasted flat. He had no joy; did not experience the fleeting rush or minor thrill even feeding for sustenance should provide. Gabriel wasn’t satisfied. He craved Jocelyn. He desired no one else. His body knew hers alread...

Jocelyn hadn’t a good night’s sleep since Gabriel had come to her that first night after encountering him on her train ride home. She woke every morning since feeling restless and mentally exhausted. She’d come to dread the fall of night. She hadn’t seen him these past two week. Regardless, images of him filled her mind every time she closed her eyes to slumber.   More than dreams they felt like memories, memories of things that haven’t happened.   As she sat at her desk in the small boutique law firm where she worked, she would’ve sworn she’d heard Gabriel’s velvet voice whisper: “Yet, my love, they haven’t happened yet.”   She had images of herself dressed in vibrant silks, twirling, dancing under the stars.   Running through the woods so fast, the leaves were a blur of dark green in the moonlight.   Riding glowing ocean waves naked.   In all of them she and Gabriel were side by side, hand in hand, but the most stirring were the images of them...

Jocelyn hummed in her throat as her mind accepted as its own the images Gabriel sent. She felt his strong hands, cool as window glass in late December, slide up her arms. His fingertips grazed her collarbone and plucked at the straps of her camisole, before continuing up her neck and into her hairline. Gooseflesh remained in the wake of his touch as he spread his fingers wide and ran them across her scalp.   “Your hair feels like silk and moves like water.” He whispered, even his words felt a gentle caress though his lips did not move. “No, my love,” he explained though she hadn't spoken, “we communicate with our minds, having long lost the need for air.”   She had her hands braced against his bare chest. Jocelyn explored. His skin was pale, yes but not chalky; and pulled taut over sinew and firm muscle. The tissue was firmer than what she would consider normal but not hard. And too cool to be alive. She shivered but not from the cold, she shivered from the heat she fe...

Gabriel stood outside her window, seduced by her heart ’s slow seductive rhythm and the gentle sound of her lungs at work; exercises he hadn’t enjoyed in nearly four hundred years. Not a hundred of those had passed before he had forgotten how it had felt to be human. It was marvelous, the connection he shared with this woman. He felt everything she did. And not just her emotions. He’d felt her tears, tasted her soup. Experienced the hot water when she bathed. He was entranced. His thoughts turned to the train. He hadn’t lied to Jocelyn; he had not intended to tatke the woman's life. He had n o t killed in more years than he felt the need to count. But when Jocelyn had entered the train and their minds had linked, he’d been overwhelmed with the force of her emotions. Gabriel had shared Jocelyn’s desire, her passion and revulsion. He had felt her stomach clench, her womanhood tighten and her gore rise. He had smelt the musky scent of her arousal whil...

She gripped the curtain helplessly as she listened. Her windows were closed and bolted shut. He stood across the street, his features shrouded in darkness. His voice was intimate as a whisper and she could hear him as clearly as though he was standing by her side. “Jocelyn, please understand,” h e compell ed. “I need to eat , to survive. I didn’t intend to kill her. I haven’t taken a life in centuries. I was experiencing your emotions as well as my own and I got swept away. But I did n o t hurt her.  You’d have felt her pain, her fear, if there had been any . That amazing gift of yours doesn’t lie to you does it , Jocelyn? Just as you know I am not lying to you.” Yes, Jocelyn thought, yes, he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t kill for food or sport , the woman was an accident and she ’ d died peacefully, but that means I’m partially responsible for her death. “No , Dearest, you are not. ” He said. She didn’t question that he could hear her though...

More than once her gaze was drawn to an intriguing couple about three quarters of the way down the car. They had their heads close together, like lovers, hers on his shoulder, his tilted down to look into her eyes. His arm was tossed over her shoulders in an easy intimacy Jocelyn envied. His hair was dark as midnight, shining blue in the cheap fluorescent light. His partner’s was a fiery cap of red that billowed around his forearm. Jocelyn used the couple as a focal point to keep her guard from slipping again and when she finally exited the train, she thanked them both silently before trudging the last blocks to home, tears falling unabashedly. She didn’t notice or sense the figure trailing behind. Hours later, after a long, hot bath and a soothing dinner of grilled cheese and soup, Jocelyn slid into the comfort of bed with a favorite book. She was determined to chase away the last of the shadows before succumbing to what she hoped would be a cleansing rest. Just as she felt...

The crowded train was full of wet, cold, tired people trying desperately to get home from another bleak day at work.  Jocelyn gripped the overhead rail tightly as her body swayed with the rocketing train; she grimaced as the man behind her intentionally rubbed his body against hers and nodded absently at the false apology he muttered.  She knew what he was really thinking and he wasn’t sorry, he’d meant to do it.  She knew what they were all thinking. Their thoughts clambered for attention inside Jocelyn’s mind; and Jocelyn, too exhausted to block them as she normally did, simply rubbed her aching head and prayed the train would hurry to her station before this guy got another cheap thrill.  His thoughts were mean and sexual and Jocelyn, though no prude, was mildly disgusted by the fantasy he’d concocted.  Unable to take it any longer, Jocelyn made her way into the next car, offering pardons as she made her way and ignoring the rude comments people’s minds ...