STARBLOOD Trilogy
by Carmilla Voiez
Carmilla Voiez's award winning Starblood trilogy in one complete text. It is a potent and visceral work of horror and fantasy and a tale of obsessive love. What would you do for the one you love? Satori would travel worlds and battle demons but, however much Star begs, he just cannot let her go.
Editorial Reviews:
"Carmilla Voiez makes Clive Barker look like Stephanie Meyer." Jef Withonef, Houston Press.
"Carmilla Voiez is more of a singer than a writer. She tells her compelling story in a hypnotic, distinctive voice that brings her eerie world vividly to life." Graham Masterton
********************************
Want a sneak peek inside?
********************************
Walking on the edge of the country road,
she sees the lights of an approaching vehicle. The car passes her then stops
and waits patiently for her approach. A group of four teenage boys sit within
its steel frame.
‘Got room for one more,’ one of them says
as she starts to pass them.
‘Where are you heading?’ she asks.
‘Anywhere you want,’ they promise.
She can feel their excitement. They can
barely suppress giggles as they look towards her.
‘The city,’ she tells them.
One boy eagerly opens a rear door and
climbs out, letting her sit between the two of them on the back seat.
‘You’re lucky we were passing,’ the driver
says, grinning at her over his shoulder. ‘It’s a long walk to the city.’
He puts the car into gear and drives. She
is crowded in the back. The two boys next to her keep breathing on her face,
their breath rank from alcohol and cigarettes. One stretches to put his arm
around her, when she doesn’t try to fight him off he giggles again. She stares
at the blur of trees
through the window. The car slows and turns
a sharp right then it heads up a steep hill. The driver brakes and switches the
engine off. He turns towards her, leering through eyes glazed with lust.
‘You might think this is your lucky day
guys, but it isn’t,’ she warns.
The car doors open. The boy to her left
grabs at her jacket and drags her out. Fabric tightens around her arms as he
yanks at her. Outside the car she stands tall among them. She smiles and they
stop grinning. They shuffle about, staring at their trainers, uncertain of what
to do - like actors who have forgotten their lines. She waits too, watching
them, not willing to be their prompt.
The driver speaks first. ‘Goth girls are
always hot to trot.’
His words break the spell and they descend
on her like wolves. Lips and teeth bounce off her skin and her clothes are
tugged again. It is as though her body no longer belongs to her, and she feels
them push her steadily towards the floor. Someone else has claimed her flesh
shell as their puppet and is moving its limbs without her help or agreement. Is
this how the magician felt inside her skin? He seemed to enjoy the experience,
for her it has already grown tiresome.
‘Come now, guys. Are we not gentlemen?
Let’s not crowd the lady,’ says the tallest. His smug grin will be the first
she grinds under her heel. ‘Let her choose who she wants first.’
As the wall of boys parts around her, she
stands back up and looks at them. Spotting the arrogant bastard, she walks
across to him and challenges him with her stare. He smiles, confident in his
masculine power.
‘You,’ she says and pushes him back hard.
He falls heavily and grabs his arm, yelping in pain. She lifts her boot and
smashes it down through his teeth. The bones crunch under her heel and she
spins around to stare at the other pale and fearful faces.
‘Who’s next?’ she asks the three.
They run from her. The driver is already at
the car, pulling open the door. He starts the engine and, in his blind panic,
reverses into a tree, crushing the breath from another of his friends with the
car
bumper. Dazed, he looks into the rear view
mirror and sees his comrade spitting blood. Changing into first, he wheel-spins
away. Letting him leave, she turns her attention to the last one. He has
vanished, into the trees probably. She
sniffs the air. It reeks of his fear. She finds him cowering behind an oak
tree. Bending down, she stares at his ashen face. He is panting and sweat
trickles from his brow into his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, blinking.
‘Yes, you are,’ she replies.
She zips open his jacket and tears his
t-shirt. His heart hammers rapidly beneath his ribcage. He struggles to
breathe, adrenaline poisoning him, preparing him for fight or flight when he is
powerless to do either. She rests the nail of her forefinger against his chest
then digs into his skin. He yelps as she draws back a slender strip of flesh,
pulling it further and further down like a zip, leaving his chest, from collar
bone to navel, wet with scarlet. He stares beyond her as if his fear has
blinded him.
‘I’m here sweetheart,’ she whispers in his
ear.
He struggles to push himself away but his
back is pinned against the tree. ‘Please...’ he says.
This word, an echo of the father’s plea
earlier, stops her for a moment.
‘You aren’t going to live,’ she tells him.
‘Then make it quick,’ he pleads.
She places the palms of her hands on either
side of his jaw and twists. His neck snaps. As she straightens her legs to
stand, she watches his body slump into the fallen leaves then she steps back
into her own room, sated.
No comments:
Post a Comment