[Draven's Crossing 1] Hidden Diversions Read Free

talent , Abbott thought.
    A small spot of heat started in his belly as a searing pain returned to his gums. His fingers itched to touch her smooth, brown face. To memorize each streak of pink and find out why she’d gone with that hair style. Isadora Jones, the only other thing to make him feel anything other than apathy. He wanted to connect to that vibrant life force that blazed from her being. Her aura was a swirl of pinks, blues, yellows, golds, and silvers with bits of red and orange along with the faintest threads of black. It fascinated him that someone could be made of such lightness and yet have the barest hint of darkness.
    There had been nights when, bathed in sweat, hand on his cock, he pumped himself off as he thought of all the ways he wanted to fuck her and then kill her. A shudder rippled through him as pangs of pain filled his stomach. Bursts of searing heat filled his mouth as his gums bled and yet no fangs ruptured forth. Blood filled his mouth. Disgust welled up within him at his loss of control. He reached past the bucket of blood and picked up the trashcan, spitting into it and watching the bright pink spittle slip down the sides of the once pristine white plastic. Nothing ever stays untainted , he thought as he put back the receptacle and turned his mind to more pleasant things.
    With his mind’s eye, he thought of the last time he had seen Isadora in person, draped in a seductive, deep V neck dress in a shade of the deepest magenta. The plush curves of her breasts and the low back that showed the barest hint of the top of her ass had almost caused him to lose control in public. Well worth it if he’d succeeded in luring her away from Torger. Disgust churned in his gut at the thought of that overbearing, Viking of a werewolf who had lingered far too close to Isadora for Abbott’s liking . One day I’ll lure him in and kill him too and then Isadora will truly be mine. No protector, no one to save her. She’ll be my masterpiece. With that thought, he turned toward his next task. The pain had subsided to a gentle tick in his blood as he focused on the only other thing that truly mattered to him: Isadora Jones.
    Instead of watching the newscast he picked up a thick, silver calligraphy pen, pulled a sheet of stationary towards him and began to write a missive he’d been thinking of for a long time.
    Dearest Isadora,
    I am not going to bore you with words of praise that you’ve undoubtedly already heard a thousand times over. Instead, I must say that being part of the newscast is beneath your immeasurable talents. But that is beside the point. Tonight I created another offering, another gift, to you, my love. Something to show you how special I think you are and how wonderful you make Draven’s Crossing with your presence. Those news stories that they make you do aren’t making use of your talents, as I’ve expressed before. To that end I’ve given you the unique honor of being able to cover an event that has shown how keen your instinct is and how stupid and ignorant the police of this town are. I hope you’ll find my present to your liking. I selected him especially for you. You said once in an interview that you had an affinity for men with auburn hair.
    When I saw this man at the bar I knew he’d be a perfect tribute for you. You would like him, although I doubt he’d hold your interest for very long. He is rather artificial but attractive, so I won’t hold his collagen plumped lips and his gym honed body against him. I hope you’ll find him to your liking. I hope you’ll enjoy reporting the details of his life. You’ve paid so much attention to detail, making my little offerings to you seem alive and important. I appreciate that more than you know.
    Until next time my love, yours,
    The Ripper (I couldn’t resist using such a signature as I’m sure you’ll appreciate the humor in it.)
    Abbott folded the letter and slipped it into a thick envelope, addressing it this time with a simple