Wednesday, November 25, 2009

JUST MY LUCK

How did all this start? Them. It started with them. In 2015 something nasty found our world. They call themselves the Tai-Kok. I still remember that first psychic contact. Their hunger slapped me in the face. It was sharp, visceral and constant. They were malevolent, depraved ghouls who lived to eat. Literally. And their image is forever burned into my mind. Tall, hairless, skeletal humanoids with a mouth full of sharp metal teeth. And to complete the total gross out, three blood-red eyes glared out of skin so transparent you could see their bones and innards. Ewww.

How they found our world or why they consider us good eatin’, who knows. It was my job to stop them. My name is Kaylee Jones. I’m a cop and a Siren. You can consider me the early warning system that keeps Earth from becoming an all-you-can-eat banquet.
The bad thing is, I’m also what you’d call a trouble magnet. Just ask my brothers. Chaos and disaster dog me where ever I go. Sometimes it sucks being me. My psychic abilities are the only reason I’m still breathing.

How did I meet the vampire aka the big bad Coletti Warlord?

Part of my job description as a Siren was mentally scanning our galaxy for any signs of the Tai-Kok. I was searching the asteroid belt for their ships when I sensed an alien presence. It was male. Definitely not human. His utter aloneness. His grief for those taken from him and his burning need for vengeance resonated so deeply within me that I instinctively reached out. Big mistake. He latched on and dug in tighter than a tick on a hunting dog. No matter how hard I tried to dislodge the little shit from my mind, he wouldn’t leave. And just my luck, his hold on me kept getting stronger. For awhile my uninvited guest seemed to be content to just observe. That and growl whenever another man got near me. I mean, c’mon. It was like having a rabid pitbull stuck in your head.

What did Talree, the Warlord, want? Me. How romantic, you think? Not! The rat bastard needed blood and it seemed only mine would do. Lucky me. And to make matters worse, he decided to make me his mate. Big honor, he said. Didn’t matter that I wasn’t willing and this mate thing meant he owned me mind, body and soul. Ever tried telling a Coletti Warlord no? Doesn’t go over very well. Unless you’re armed to the teeth and even then, it’s pretty iffy. They’re damned good at mind control and add in their ability to teleport and you’re toast.

Okay, I’ll admit that the sex is hot. Really hot. Melt your panties hot. Gotta admit the first time I saw his dick it was freaky and kinda weird. So weird that I almost forgot the cardinal rule. Never ever make fun of a guy’s penis. But it gets the job done. If you know what I mean. Really really gets the job done. If you’re in to the multiple orgasm thing. Doesn’t hurt either, that Talree is a hunk. Body of a pro wrestler and a face that could grace the cover of GQ Magazine.
And the bossy jerk did agree to save our world from annihilation. But, the bad news was, Warlords aren’t benevolent do-gooder types and there was a price for them helping us. Our women.

That’s when I discovered the Coletti’s dirty little secret. Chemicals used in their Great War created a genetic anomaly and their women are going the way of the Dodo Bird. To save their race from extinction they must convert females of other species. Lucky us. Okay, I’ll live a very long time, heal quickly and can do neat stuff like teleporting and mind control but... Fangs! C’mon. Makes you want to bite something.
A neck or an arm or...

And don’t get me started on my father-in-law Zarek, the Overlord of the Coletti clans. One scary dude that makes Darth Vader look like Little Orphan Annie. Did I ever mention, that I’ve got a big mouth and don’t take orders well? Yeah, kinda suicidal when dealing with Warlords. The mate bond with Talree and my abilities as a Siren are the only things keeping Zarek from mind-wiping me. For now.

And the really bad news was, Talree’s low-down conniving brother, Malik, had joined forces with our alien freaks and now we have to stop them from destroying the galaxy. For better or worse, our fates are intertwined. To survive what is to come, I have to embrace my destiny. Become something not quite human. Sometimes to protect and serve was a real bitch. But on the bright side, I can use that power to change the system. Introduce a little truth, justice and the American way. If we fail, not only would Earth be destroyed, but countless other worlds would fall, too. So not happening on my watch.

Cougar On The Prowl

The cougar is a concealment and ambush hunter. A good cougar stalks their prey and then circles in for the kill. Okay ladies, kill is a metaphor. For us lazy hunters, the ambush method of hunting uses less energy and has a greater chance of success.

The best place for hunting our prey is senior centers and retirement communities. Yes, you heard me right. Senior centers. The men are old, hearing impaired and can’t run very fast. C’mon, even I can out run them while they’re dragging along their oxygen tanks. I know. I know. Cougar’s prey are supposed to be young bucks. Too much work, girls. Old geezers are much easier to handle.

Men are horny. Old men are even hornier. Suck it up ladies and ignore the yellowing, mottled skin, scrawny bodies and talon like toenails. We cougars are not faint of heart. No, we are hunters. Hear us roar. So just trowel on the makeup. Old, remember? Can’t see very well? A good underwire bra combined with a sexy low cut blouse and bada-bing, bada-boom, your prey is hooked. You reel him in and net yourself a trip to Hawaii or an Alaskan cruise. And for God’s sake, don’t forget the Viagra and ear plugs. Yes, ladies, I said ear plugs. That Darth Vader like wheezing does tend to get on your nerves.

Another great location for hunting is pool side at the community centers. First you look for the gentleman with the dead critter perched on his head. That hair piece shows he’s vain and on the prowl. Next you check to see if he’s wearing enough gold chains to sink a battle ship. Remember, gold equals money. Money equals the perfect prey. Okay, sometimes not so perfect. His itty-bitty Speedo leaves nothing to the imagination and exposes his shortcoming to the entire world. But not to worry, a little Viagra will fix that problem. Unfortunately, the little blue pill won’t fix his sagging, wrinkled paunch or the fact that his body hair would rival a gorilla’s. But, downing a couple of Vicodins or a dozen Martinis will solve this problem. Remember, a successful hunter travels the world, first class. A bad hunter gets a quick trip to Vegas and the all-you-can-eat buffet.


I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher for the Glendale Police Department and to keep from going totally bonkers – I mean people have no idea of what a real emergency is. Take this for an example: I answered, “9-1-1 emergency, what’s your emergency?” And this hysterical woman yelled, “My bird is in a tree.” Sometimes I really couldn’t help myself, so I said, “Birds have a tendency to do that, ma’am.” The woman screeched, “No! You don’t understand. My pet parakeet is in the tree. I’ve just got to get him down.” Like I said, not a clue. “I’m sorry ma’am, but we don’t get birds out of trees.” The woman then cried, “But… What about my husband? He’s up there, too.” See what I had to deal with? To keep from hitting myself repeatedly in the head with my phone, I took up writing.

My book JUST MY LUCK is available at http://www.whispershome.com/