Eve Langlais - Hybrid Misfit

Published 2011

Blurb

I lost my humanity in a government experiment, and now find myself hunted because of it. Demons, vampires and even angels-everyone wants a piece of me. I say bring it on and prepare to die, because I intend to fight for my right to live.

A chance meeting with a giant shifter and his best friend-an actual genie with a bottle-has evened the odds just as a prophecy involving me increases the danger. But, this Hybrid Misfit isn’t about to give up, and with my lovers supporting me, I will change the world-and discover that two naked men in bed is better than one.

They claimed the treatments were for our own good, that it would improve our quality of life. They explained the locked doors, barbed wire and guards were for our safety. They told us the infusions they pumped into our strapped down bodies weren’t dangerous even as so many of us died-or worse, emerged from the screaming changed . And, they also said it wouldn’t hurt even as the agony burned through our limbs and boiled our blood.

Liars.

For every one of us that died, for every one of us that cried, and for every one of us that lost our humanity, someone would pay. Make that someone would die, not by my hand for even with the torture I suffered at their hands, I lacked that kind of ruthlessness. But my brothers and sisters, made kin by the shared experimentation, they had no such qualms; in fact they craved violence-and death.

When the uprising occurred, blood rained down and soaked the earth. Like a volcano erupting, vengeance, too long bottled, burst forth with deadly consequence. In the deep of night, when only bogeymen dared walk, I ran with the flames of Hades reaching high behind me in the dark sky. As I escaped my prison and the adopted siblings who’d finally turned on me with covetous eyes, I heard the chilling screams of the liars as retribution came back to bite them.

Then to eat them.

As for me, I fled and hid, but most of all I rejoiced because I was finally free.

Apparently, someone forgot to mention that with freedom came responsibility. Escaping the gated institution I’d lived in for three long years didn’t make everything all better. Although, I did enjoy the lack of needles, and bathing in privacy was a treat. In exact reverse though, I’d have to say I wasn’t too crazy about the gnawing pain in my stomach or sleeping on the cold, hard ground.

I couldn’t ignore the facts-I needed a place to live. I needed things to survive. I needed a job. Of course, that was easier said than done, especially considering I had a definite lack of skills. A grade twelve education did not make me a rocket scientist, although I could still recite by rote some of the Spanish I’d learned.

While in captivity, we’d had no access to computers or technology, and books were doled out for good behavior. I’m afraid to say, I didn’t read often. Emerging into the real world like a butterfly from a chrysalis, I needed to learn how to fly. Or, at the very least type and speak a second language. It wasn’t like I didn’t have any skills, but somehow, I didn’t think peeing in a cup with no hands would gain me points on a job application.

I tried all the easy places first-McDonalds, Walmart and other retailers that paid minimum wage and required no experience. Nobody hired me.

Annoyed that they’d foiled my plan to start a new life, I moped for days and thought about going back to kill the managers who couldn’t see my potential. It would have helped with my hunger at the very least, but caution stayed my hand-and a squeamishness over parts of my diet that forced me to resort to hunting those of my kind-well my kind until I changed, that was. But the loss of my innocent self remained a memory I preferred not to dwell on.

So what should a girl of twenty-one with good teeth, no skills or advanced education do for money? And an easy food source?

Thus was Trixi born, the newest exotic dancer at XXXButts. A shocking environment that I wouldn’t deny was degrading to women, but in their defense, they paid really fucking well. It also made feeding my hungers-and not the meat and potato variety-so much easier.

XXXButts was just a starting point though. I moved often in the beginning, especially when members of my past caught up to me and learned to their detriment that I preferred to stay hidden and out of their clutches. It was during this time I lost my squeamishness and I adopted the new motto of “I will kill to survive.” Eventually, I stopped running, and that’s when I found out, to my amazement, I wasn’t the only special girl working at my newest club. Of course, the siren and werebunny didn’t come close to my state of being, but because of our differences-and in spite of them-we forged a friendship that was stronger for our specialness.

My unique appeal on stage caught the attention of a bigger club within months-I knew how to please a crowd. Dragging my friends along with me, we moved to the more upscale location and I landed the cushy feature dancer position while Lana and Claire landed jobs as shot girl and waitress. My success entitled us to the best shifts, the cleanest most secure lockers and a never-ending flow of cash-among other things.

During my time on stage, I enticed and enflamed. I swung on the pole in a titillating dance as the featured Saturday night dancer. When I shook my booty, all eyes in the place were glued to me. What could I say, I was hot and not only did I know it, but humans did, too. Even better, their slack jawed excitement fed a part of me without my even touching them. If only I could have fed my other hunger hands-free.

My friends and I settled into a comfortable routine. We exchanged life stories. We watched out for each other and I thrived.

I should have known my comfortable existence wouldn’t last.

Premonition didn’t warn me as I hung upside down on a pole, my ankles crisscrossed while my anaconda thighs gripped the upright bar. My hands cupped my breasts-which were barely hidden by my pasties-while my hips dry humped the steel support, multitasking at its best. I was in the midst of my routine, sucking in all the thick, sexual energy, when they walked in.

Shit. Fuck. Oh crap. About two dozen curse words went through my mind when I saw them, my long lost brothers. Or should I say rejected lovers-although given their rough ways many would have said rapists-for after the change, I went from little sister to coveted object. Their appearance couldn’t bode well. I pretended not to notice them, hoping I’d get lucky and they wouldn’t recognize me.

Their freakish yellow eyes zeroed in on me immediately, shooting down that wishful thought. I hid my own special eyes behind contacts of dull brown. Apparently violet colored eyes, ones that appeared lit up from within, weren’t the norm for humans. Imagine that. But mundane human disguise or not, I couldn’t mask my scent and I could see them sniffing the air as they took seats close to the stage. They didn’t make it to the pervert row, that first rank around the stage where leering men sat with eager faces and enjoyed the up close and personal show. But the trio didn’t sit far behind and I could see them muttering to each other even if I couldn’t hear their words over the blaring rock music.

Probably planning ways to capture me and take me back to their lair for some devious torture.

Okay, that was a tad melodramatic. They probably didn’t have a lair, but I wasn’t kidding about the capture part. They wanted me because of what I could do. Or should I say, what my blood was capable of.