1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen Read online

  1001 Dark Nights

  Bundle 14

  Five Novellas

  By

  Kristen Ashley

  Carrie Ann Ryan

  K. Bromberg

  Joanna Wylde

  And introducing JB Salsbury

  1001 Dark Nights

  1001 Dark Nights: Bundle 14

  ISBN 978-1-948050-40-1

  Rock Chick Reawakening: A Rock Chick Novella

  By Kristen Ashley

  Copyright 2017 Kristen Ashley

  Adoring Ink: A Montgomery Ink Novella

  By Carrie Ann Ryan

  Copyright 2017 Carrie Ann Ryan

  Sweet Rivalry

  By K. Bromberg

  Copyright 2017 K. Bromberg

  Shade’s Lady: A Reapers MC Novella

  By Joanna Wylde

  Copyright 2017 Fat Robin Press LLC

  Fighting for Flight

  By JB Salsbury

  Copyright JB Salsbury

  Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose

  Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

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  Discovery Bundle Three

  Featuring stories by

  Sidney Bristol, Darcy Burke, T. Gephart

  Stacey Kennedy, Adriana Locke

  JB Salsbury, and Erika Wilde

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Rock Chick Reawakening by Kristen Ashley

  Adoring Ink by Carrie Ann Ryan

  Sweet Rivalry by K. Bromberg

  Shade’s Lady by Joanna Wylde

  Fighting for Flight by JB Salsbury

  Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Five

  Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection One

  Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Two

  Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Three

  Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Four

  Discover the World of 1001 Dark Nights

  Special Thanks

  One Thousand and One Dark Nights

  Once upon a time, in the future…

  I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.

  I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and

  the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast

  library at my father’s home and collected thousands

  of volumes of fantastic tales.

  I learned all about ancient races and bygone

  times. About myths and legends and dreams of all

  people through the millennium. And the more I read

  the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered

  that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually

  become part of them.

  I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher

  and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I

  would not be telling you this tale now.

  But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off

  with bravery.

  One afternoon, curious about the myth of the

  Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to

  see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar

  (Persian: شهریار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then

  sent yesterday’s wife to be beheaded. It was written

  and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,

  the vizier’s daughter, he’d killed one thousand

  women.

  Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived

  in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged

  places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had

  never occurred before and that still to this day, I

  cannot explain.

  Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have

  taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can

  protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to

  protect herself and stay alive.

  Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.

  And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a

  point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.

  And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that

  he might hear the rest of my dark tale.

  As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new

  one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before

  you now.

  Rock Chick Reawakening

  A Rock Chick Novella

  By Kristen Ashley

  About Kristen Ashley

  Kristen Ashley was born in Gary, Indiana, USA and nearly killed her mother and herself making it into the world, seeing as she had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck (already attempting to accessorize and she hadn't taken her first breath!). Her mother said they took Kristen away, put her Mom back in her room, her mother looked out the window, and Gary was on fire (Dr. King had been assassinated four days before). Kristen's Mom remembered thinking it was the end of the world. Quite the dramatic beginning.

  Nothing's changed.

  Kristen grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana and has lived in Denver, Colorado and the West Country of England. Thus, she's blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her family was (is) loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write. They all lived together on a very small farm in a small farm town in the heartland. She grew up with Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon and Whitesnake (and the wardrobes that matched).

  Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music, clothes and love was a good way to grow up.

  And as she keeps growing, it keeps getting better.

  You can find more information about her books at www.kristenashley.net.

  Also from Kristen Ashley

  Click to purchase

  Rock Chick Series:

  Rock Chick

  Rock Chick Rescue

  Rock Chick Redemption

  Rock Chick Renegade

  Rock Chick Revenge

  Rock Chick Reckoning

  Rock Chick Regret

  Rock Chick Revolution

  The ’Burg Series:

  For You

  At Peace

  Golden Trail

  Games of the Heart

  The Promise

  Hold On

  The Chaos Series:

  Own the Wind

  Fire Inside

  Ride Steady

  Walk Through Fire

  The Colorado Mountain Series:

  The Gamble

  Sweet Dreams

  Lady Luck

  Breathe

  Jagged

  Kaleidoscope

  Bounty

  Dream Man Series:

  Mystery Man

  Wild Man

  Law Man

  Motorcycle Man

  The Fantasyland Series: />
  Wildest Dreams

  The Golden Dynasty

  Fantastical

  Broken Dove

  Midnight Soul

  The Magdalene Series:

  The Will

  Soaring

  The Three Series:

  Until the Sun Falls from the Sky

  With Everything I Am

  Wild and Free

  The Unfinished Hero Series:

  Knight

  Creed

  Raid

  Deacon

  Sebring

  Other Titles by Kristen Ashley:

  Fairytale Come Alive

  Heaven and Hell

  Lacybourne Manor

  Lucky Stars

  Mathilda, SuperWitch

  Penmort Castle

  Play It Safe

  Sommersgate House

  Three Wishes

  Acknowledgments from the Author

  I would like to thank Liz Berry for being so danged excited when I said the words, “I’m thinking about doing Daisy and Marcus,” when we were discussing what novella I could write for 1,001 Dark Nights. It gave me just the push I needed, with a little cheerleader high kick and jump to boot, to explore Daisy and Marcus and have the beauty I experienced while writing these pages.

  And as ever, my gratitude to Erika Wynne, my sister in so many things, not just blood. She is always but always at my back, at my side or forging the way to cut a path to make things easier for me. It’s impossible to express how exquisite it is to have that. But I try in each and every book I write to share just a little of the vastness of the beauty of the sisterhood that she gives to me.

  Dedication

  Last, this book is dedicated to all you Rock Chicks out there.

  You know who you are.

  You know the life you helped me build.

  You know how much I appreciate it.

  You wanted Daisy and Marcus, and it’s my extreme pleasure to give them to you.

  Rock on!

  Prologue

  Building Castles

  Daisy

  “You’re a lunatic!”

  “You didn’t think that when I had my mouth wrapped around your dick!”

  “That’s because you couldn’t use it to talk!”

  “Kiss my ass!”

  “Not anymore, babe. We’re done.”

  “Like I care.”

  “You’ll care when you got no one’s dick to suck to pay your cable bill.”

  My eyes were closed. I was lying alone in my dark room, on my back in my twin bed.

  My bed was lumpy, seeing as Momma bought it from a yard sale, but I didn’t feel that.

  And my room was small and it didn’t smell all that great, this coming mostly from the carpet. It smelled like that from all the way back when, when we first moved in. Momma didn’t bother to do anything and got mad when I complained about it, so I’d tried to clean it myself, three times. But that smell just wouldn’t go away.

  I didn’t smell the smell either.

  And I could hear the words but even though they were coming from just down the hall, I was somewhere else.

  I was building castles.

  “Do not go there!”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I’m tellin’ you, do not go there!”

  The door to my bedroom opened and so did my eyes, the beautiful castle I was building melting clean away.

  I could smell the smell.

  I could feel the lumps.

  I could sense the closeness of the room, its thin walls, its fading, ripped-in-places wallpaper, the ceiling light I never turned on because the cover had been shattered on a night I didn’t like to remember and now it made it too bright when I turned on the light.

  “Daisy, sweetheart?” he called.

  I looked to the door.

  He was in shadows, those caused by the dark of my room and the hall. The only light was coming from somewhere else, probably her bedroom, because it was real late.

  Tall, he had a beer belly but he also had broad shoulders.

  I liked his shoulders. And his eyes. They were always twinkling when they looked at me. Even when he was mad at Momma, he’d look at me and it was like he forced the ugly out so all he’d ever give me was just the twinkle.

  And he always used that soft voice when he talked to me.

  Always, even when he was fighting with Momma, like just then.

  “Get away from that door!” my mother screeched and I saw the shadowed man jolt as she shoved him to the side.

  He came back, hand up, finger pointed in her face.

  “Chill,” he bit off.

  I wanted to close my eyes but I didn’t. I never could in times like these. Times like these, it was impossible to build castles. I knew this sure as certain.

  Seeing as I’d tried.

  His head swung back to me.

  “I gotta go, girl. You need somethin’, all you gotta—”

  “She don’t need shit!” my mother snapped.

  His head turned to her again. He hesitated and I watched as his body moved when he took in a deep breath.

  Then he looked back to me.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered.

  So was I.

  I was young, only ten, but I understood why he was sorry.

  But he wasn’t sorrier than me.

  “You tell her you’re sorry. You treat me like garbage and you tell her you’re sorry?” Momma shouted and the shadowed man jolted again because she’d shoved him again.

  He reached in, grabbed the knob to my bedroom door, and pulled it to.

  He did stuff like this too, a lot, because they fought, a lot. He tried to make it so I wouldn’t see. Coming down the hall and closing my door. Or when they were in the middle of it and I was in the living room or kitchen, telling me quietly, “Maybe you should go to your room, sweetheart, and close that door, yeah?”

  But he could never make it so I wouldn’t hear.

  With that, he disappeared.

  But she didn’t.

  Her voice still came at me.

  “That’s it? You’re just leaving?”

  Nothing from him.

  But more from her.

  “You can’t be serious. You cannot be freaking serious!”

  He didn’t reply.

  “You’re such an asshole. A total freaking asshole.”

  He wasn’t an asshole.

  He was a good one.

  The only good one.

  Or, at least, the only good one I’d met.

  He didn’t hit her. He didn’t hit me. Both of these my daddy did before he took off and we never saw him again. And other ones did besides (her and me).

  He didn’t steal her money (Daddy did that too). He didn’t look at me in a way that made my skin feel funny (it was good that Daddy didn’t do that). He didn’t eat all the food in the house and drink all Momma’s beer and bourbon and then complain there was never any food or beer or bourbon in the house and ride her behind until she got in her junker car and went out to get more for him (and yeah, Daddy had done that too).

  Those kinds stayed around a lot longer than this one did.

  Too long.

  But never that long.

  They always left.

  Like Daddy did.

  And I never missed them.

  Yes, even Daddy.

  But I’d miss this one with his twinkly eyes and his soft voice and the way he called me sweetheart not like that was what I was, but that was what he had. A sweet heart.

  No, there were not a lot of those kinds. Not for Momma.

  Not for me.

  “Stretch!” she shrieked. “You get back here, Stretch! Get back here!”

  The front door slammed.

  “Fucking motherfucker!” Momma screamed.

  I closed my eyes.

  Let myself drift away.

  And I started again to build my castle.

  * * * *

  “A Southern woman always has her table laid.”<
br />
  Miss Annamae was talking to me in her pretty dining room with the big dining room table all laid with the finest china, sparkling crystal, shining silver, and its big bunch of light-purply-blue hydrangeas with cream roses set in the middle.

  She adjusted a napkin in its holder sitting on a plate that was sitting on a charger that was resting on a pressed linen tablecloth.

  “If she’s fortunate,” Miss Annamae went on, and standing opposite the table to her, the fingers of my hands wrapped over the back of a tall chair, all ears, like I always was when I was with Miss Annamae, I watched her move around the table with difficulty. She wasn’t a young woman. She also wasn’t a beaten one, even losing both her kids and her husband and having to carry on alone. “She can change it with the seasons. I have Christmas china.” Her faded blue eyes turned to me and a smile set the wrinkles in her face to shifting. “But you’ve seen that, haven’t you, Miss Daisy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  And I had. Miss Annamae did her house up real pretty at Christmas. She always made sure I came over so she could show me all around and give me a tin of Christmas cookies she baked herself.

  Momma had been working for Miss Annamae now for over two years. It was the longest job she’d ever had. She usually got fired a lot sooner than that.

  I reckoned Miss Annamae kept her on as her daily girl not because she liked her or she did good work and kept a tidy house (which she did not, not Miss Annamae’s and definitely not ours). I also didn’t reckon she kept her on because she liked the fact Momma would be late a lot, show up hungover a lot, call off sick a lot, or one of her “men friends” would show at Miss Annamae’s big, graceful mansion and cause a ruckus.

  No, I didn’t reckon any of this was why Miss Annamae kept her on.

 
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