Paul calls the shots. His friends know it. His son knows it. And his women know it--all of them, except Lena. With the return of the delicate Russian waif he'd used up and cast off years before, Paul's control and his sanity begin slipping away. Even when friends start to disappear and die, Paul can't possibly imagine the dark power the wraith Lena wields, or the horrifying revenge she has in store for him.
Melissa, Dark Diva Reviews
"I can say that I was intrigued throughout this short book because I just had to know what was going on."
Claudia R., Manic Readers Reviews
..."packs quite a punch! Varian Krylov has weaved a memorable story, and if you are imaginative, adventurous, and of strong mind, I would suggest giving this short story a read."
Seriously Reviewed
"NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART!!! Brilliantly written for such a dark story... Ms Krylov, my hats off to you for penning such a tale that while it may not fit for a lot of folks, I applaud you in your ability to pen a story about such a “real” horror."
Right away, Katya’s face reflected his nauseating fear, like a mirror. Weird, how she was always in tune with him. Maybe more so than Rachel had ever been.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” he whispered when he’d pulled her against him, when he’d wrapped his arms around her, and started to feel less wobbly. “Like I’m seeing things.”
If she spoke English, if she could have understood him, Paul wouldn’t have said anything. But it felt good to tell someone.
“I swear to God, it was Lena,” he breathed at Katya’s ear. “But there’s no way. And she didn’t even look human. She looked like a fucking cadaver. And who appears like that, anyway? In the middle of a busy road, peering into your car with eyes like that?”
Paul stopped squeezing Katya in his arms and backed her away from him to look at her eyes. He’d suddenly been terrified it was the other thing in his arms, that he’d look and see two big, black, glossy orbs. No whites at all.
But it was just Katya, that bright flame back in her eyes.
Now he wanted her. Needed to feel her warmth, taste her mouth, touch her soft skin. She stayed quiet and still as he undressed her, then took his own clothes off. When he laid back on the bed and put his arms out, she slipped atop him and took him in her mouth, and when he was hard, she took him inside the close warmth of her cunt.
With her on top of him, riding him, when he pulled her down for a kiss, he almost forgot his nausea, his terror. She was there, warm, bringing his body that pleasure, her slick heat enveloping his cock, her little breasts soft in his hands, her nipples stiff and eager under his fingers. He liked how it felt, licking her lips, then brushing his tongue against hers, biting, sucking one lip, then the other.
“Fuck, you feel good, Katya,” he breathed, close to coming.
“No,” she breathed back, but in Russian, her voice hollow, rasping, not even like a human voice. “Nyet. Not Katya.”
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