Snippet – Saw Palmetto Sacrifice Chapter 1

With all the Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance I read, I think it makes sense for me to tackle the genre and try to put my own spin on it. Saw Palmetto Sacrifice is what happens when I look at what I don’t like about the two genres (ceaseless heteronormativity, skimpy representation of characters of color, and cultural appropriation as the main offenders) and try to subvert the genres’ most frustrating tropes and themes.

It’s kind of on a break for now as the Gothic Romance project and my freelance writing take the front seat, but I’m so very fond of it. So this snippet comes from the first chapter and gets us into Alex’s head.

Enjoy!


If it wasn’t for the fact that I liked the early warning system that was me coming in to work to find my coworkers all clustered around the coffee machine and panicking because Niilhaasi was in my office again, I’d probably be more annoyed. With my coworkers, not Niilhaasi.

I was always happy to be annoyed with Niilhaasi.

When I pushed open the door to my office, I wasn’t surprised to see Niilhaasi sitting at my desk and sipping something out of my second-favorite mug. Frustrated and yet resigned to my fate, yes, but not surprised.

“That better be coffee in that cup,” I said with a snarl in my voice, dropping my bag down in one of the two chairs set on the other side of my desk. Those were the chairs for visitors and yet somehow I always found myself using them whenever Niilhaasi took it upon himself to drop in for a visit.

Niilhaasi smiled above the rim of my mug, lips curving up for a smile that’d look attractive on just about anyone else. On him though, the smile only inspired thoughts of violence. Especially when I noticed the crimson gleam of blood on his upper lip.

“I could tell you that it was,” Niilhaasi said, still smiling despite the fact that I knew that he could sense my anger. “But I know how much you hate liars, Alexandra.”

I didn’t bother to bite my tongue.

“I also hate vampires that pour blood in my mugs.” I snarled again, sounding more like a vampire than Niilhaasi ever did in this office. “You owe me a new mug,” I told him. “I don’t care if you buy it yourself or if you get one of your flunkies to do it but the next time you decide to visit me, you’d better bring a new mug.”

Niilhaasi didn’t respond. He just looked at me, dark eyes narrowing underneath his thick black brows. Waiting. Just… waiting.

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About Zina

Zina writes about comics, nerd history, and ridiculous romance novels when not working frantically on her first collection of short stories and complaining about stuff. One day, she'll settle down and write that novel.
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