Feed Me

Book 1: Inamorata

by Dana J Wright, g. Veintimilla, Ginny Bookhelpline

Genres: Fantasy; Dragons & Mythical Creatures; Paranormal; Romantic Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

Synopsis

The realm of humans is ruled by masters not of their world. This greatest of all secrets is kept by a minute group of humans, who, in return for their silence, are taught universal knowledge. Using this knowledge, they're able to accumulate immense wealth, power and privilege. As with most gifts, there's a required price to maintain membership in this elite group: sacrifice.

Freedom! What Leda Malcolm desires most but can't capture. Raised in an abusive family, married to an abusive man, now working for an abusive boss, she can't figure out how to break the cycle. While at the end of her rope an unexpected discovery, concerning her bloodlines, will forever change her life. New worlds and creatures open doors to realities she never knew existed. A dark, mysterious human family of beautiful men, wish to help her navigate the harrowing waters of monsters and gods, but sacrifice is required. Will she pay the price to net her freedom?

Release date: August 20, 2020

Publisher: Dana J Wright

Print pages: 441

Content advisory: explicit sexuality, including rape, incest and group sex, as well as drug use

Sample

Chapter 1

From my vantage point, standing on the bridge, peering through the fog, the water looks cold and sounds angry--its frigid rage inviting me in, promising the peace that I so desperately need. Peace! The cessation of a disastrous life, blessed slumber. Closing my eyes, I breathe in the salty air that whips my hair with such ferocity it stings my cheeks and brings tears to my eyes. Tonight will be the culmination of over a year of wanting to check out. Tonight, I'll finally give in to that want and spend my eternity in a watery grave. Water, my Piscean element, the one in which I've always felt safest. The one element that washes away the grime and stench of my sins, the greatest of which was throwing my life away.

I grip the cold steel of the bridge, silently promising myself that if I do return to this world, I won't waste my days following the dictates of others. I won't follow the rules; I'll make my own, because playing by the rules led me straight to this midnight bridge. The path to where I now perch, one hundred meters above the crashing whitecaps, was one pothole after another, and I ignorantly fell into each one. Abusive parents, an alcoholic husband, college degrees with the accompanying debt, and finally, the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back, a year working under Mr. Davison, my boss who sexually and physically abused me and who now, after everything he's done, has threatened to fire me because I took measures to stop his abuse. 

Mr. Davison! The leader of a menacing trio that included his married lover, Cynthia Salak, and a dirty union representative, Bradly Tiller. Even now, freezing on this bridge, knowing that I will never suffer their abuse again, the thought of their malfeasance still causes the bile to rise in my throat. Inwardly, I chuckle, albeit sardonically, that at the end of my atrocious life, they're what I think about, wondering why it's me standing here on this wind-whipped bridge intstead of them. Why do people like Davison, Salak, and Tiller sleep soundly while their vile treatment of me caused countless nights of stress and tears, hours upon hours in which sleep eluded me? I suppose it no longer matters; soon my name will be carried into oblivion on the wind the currently cyclones around me. 

I glance back down, unable to see the water now that the thickness of the fog has increased. Still, I hear it, even over the screaming wind. Come home, Leda, it beckons. You will be safe in my arms.

Tonight, before I let go, I'm counting on the visions to make one final appearance. It's why I still live. I want one last chance to see the visions that started about a year ago, triggered when I was near a body of water. Maybe this last viewing, at the end, will finally reveal their meaning. Perhaps I'll be able to decipher the scenes or recognize at least one of the creatures projected behind me eyes: darkness, light, wings, serpents, deserts, ziggurats, temples, dragons, and gargoyles. Most importantly, the dark figure who is the underlying current of all my visions. A presence I know I should recognize but don't. Should reach for but can't. Should call to but am mute. He's always there in the periphery but disappears when I turn to face him.

My final moments in this life, I beg the creatures of my visions to fully introduce themselves so I can say goodbye before even saying hello. I suck in my breath, seraching within as the fragments skim my consciousness. And as always, the dark figure accompanies the visions, waiting deep within my soul. I feel him more than I see him. Who are you? I still myself for a response, but, as always, he remains silent. One last attempt, I try and fail--an appropriate ending to my ghastly life. I wish we could have known each other. 

The time has come to end the inevitable, time to seal my liquid sarcophagus. With a razor, I pull from the pocket of my black pants, I slice both wrists and watch with fascination as blood streams down into my palms before the wind snatches it from my fingertips. I take a final breath and let go.