I blurted out the maximum dollar amount I could afford. She just threw her head back - so far back, I was shocked to see, that her hair actually touched the floor - and laughed. The sound of it sent shivers down my spine … it reminded me of nothing so much as the cackling of hyenas in the night, which I had heard frequently in various African countries during my time in the Peace Corps. “You think money can buy my services? Think again, kitten, and try harder this time.” Her body language changed subtly, becoming almost predatory. I felt my face flush as a strange mix of fear and arousal flooded over me. As I stammered in confusion, her nostrils flared, and she ran her gaze down my body, settling below my waist. I began to regret the rather short shorts I had worn, but I had the strange feeling that it might be my femoral artery that had her attention, not my rapidly-dampening pussy. “Oh my god, does she want sex or blood as payment?” I thought.
Excerpt from a work-in-progress story for Blood and Rust
Seattle-based Kentucky refugee Inara Cauldwell is a triple threat: a writer, musician, and occultist. The child of a rural beauty queen and an itinerant New York City carny, she discovered horror, porn, and weird fiction at too young an age: in the words of her maternal grandmother, “She was twisted by books.” She is at work on several projects at the moment, most notably writing for Blood and Rust. She also provides research assistance for other projects as needed, particularly in the fields of occultism and Middle Eastern mythology and linguistics.