Tuesday Snippet

Happy Christmas to those who celebrate, and a Happy Tuesday to those who do not 🙂 Here is a tiny snippet from Over the River, which is on sale on Kobo for a limited time!

KOBO~ $0.99 for a limited time!

Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble

copyright@OctoberWeeks 2018

Resuming her picture taking, Delilah found herself near the sandbox again. A presence stirred the air, poking around her energy like icy fingers. She took a picture, waiting patiently for the spirit to appear. It was struggling against the pressure of the “someone.” She didn’t urge the ghost—no need to rush.

Shoveling—a shovel digging into dirt.

The impression of a small shovel dug into the snow and scooped it up. The white powder traveled in the air for a moment before sliding off and disappearing. A few seconds later, the grainy echo of dirt hitting the bottom of a bucket touched her ears.

The ghost was trying to tell her something. Sometimes, a child spirit had a hard time putting a full image through, but the audio was loud and clear.

“Put that shovel down right now!”

Delilah jumped at the shrill voice. A door swung open behind her, but she kept her gaze on the stilled snow in front of her. It was halfway to the bucket. Fear from the child began to grip her mind. The poor thing was frozen with it.

“But Mama, I…”

Delilah moved her head slightly. Footsteps appeared in the snow beside her, about a foot away. The sound of fabric rustling came and stopped.

“I said no playing, young man.” The woman’s voice shook with anger.

The fear rose.

“You know the rules.”

“I just wanted to play for a minute!” the boy pleaded.

Delilah sensed him huddled in the sandbox, making himself small.

“It’s been days, Mama!”
A growl came from the woman. Ice crawled up Delilah’s arm in response.

“I know the days, son.” The words were said in a dangerous whisper.


Excerpt: THE ARENA

Here is an excerpt of THE ARENA for your reading pleasure 🙂

Evernight Publishing ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Smashwords 

Amazon ~ iTunes


copyright@October Weeks 2018

The opening chords of Godsmack’s “Stand Alone” jarred Tuck Houston out of much needed slumber. She tried to move closer to the nightstand but the arm around her tightened in protest.

“Leave it,” Tristan Baudin grumbled.

She laughed softly. “You know better than that, Tristan.”

The phone stopped, but Tuck had a strong feeling that quiet wasn’t going to last.

Tristan slid his hand up the side of her torso and across her chest to lightly grasp her breast. “See?”

She sighed, and a shiver of desire ran through her. “Three, two—”

The phone started up again.

Tristan mumbled something about “bullshitery” and loosened his grip.

Tuck wasn’t fond of moving out of his arms, but whoever was calling wasn’t going to let her stay snuggled up.

She grabbed her phone and lay on her back. The screen said Lucia. Concern swept through her as she swiped the screen. “Lucia?”

“Tuck. I’m sorry if I’ve woken you.”

“It’s all right. What’s going on?”

Vaguely, she heard Tristan mumble, “Fuck me,” and then he rolled over and snuggled her against him.

“A few days ago we found a nest of vampyr just outside of Tombstone. We killed them, but they had fifteen human bodies in the basement of the house they were squatting in. The whole area felt off. Once we veered off the main road, the desolation was immediate.”

Tuck did not like the sound of that. “How far out from the house did that start?”

“Nine miles.”

“Shit,” Tuck said as she sat up.

Tristan did the same, a look of concern on his face as he watched her.

“We’re tracking another group now, one we picked up on once the house and bodies were dealt with. That same feeling is following them—all the way into New Mexico. When we get close, the feeling deepens. I’ve never felt anything like it, Tuck, but I know what that could mean—Vampyr and Damned don’t have the ability to mask themselves that heavily or for that long of a distance. Not even the oldest ones.”

No, they don’t.

Vampyr and Damned could hide from humans quite well, but that power only stretched out so far, even if there was more than one vampire involved. The farthest that power could spread was roughly one mile. More times than not, Vampyr and Damned would only mask the area they rested or lived in. The farther out their power reached, the weaker it became.

Only one breed of vampire could mask the way Lucia was describing—strigoi. Tuck understood why Lucia had phoned her.

“Your dad said you and Tristan are in San Diego.”

“Yes, we just finished our hunt a few hours ago. Where are you right now?”

“About an hour outside of Las Cruces, but this group is headed farther into the desert and away from civilization. One of us will go back to Las Cruces and wait for you and Tristan.”

“We’re on our way.”

“Thank you, Tuck. I have a bad feeling about this one.”

In DiGregorio terms, that meant whatever was happening was beyond the pale, and that sent the spike of urgency already forming in Tuck’s gut all the way up her spine. The DiGregorios never called in backup unless something was very wrong.

“Be careful. If something looks too easy, don’t move forward. Wait for me, please.”

“We will,” Lucia promised, and then ended the phone call.

Tuck ran a hand over her face and then told Tristan what was happening. “We need to hustle. I don’t want Lucia on this hunt without me if strigoi are truly involved. If we leave in the next half hour we can be there by mid-afternoon.”

He kissed her shoulder and then nuzzled her neck. “Take a shower first. I’ll get the gear packed.”

She thanked him with a kiss and then quickly got into the shower.


Here’s a little Tuesday Teaser from A Taste So Bittersweet 🙂


@copyright October Weeks 2016


Having Tuck in the city was more nerve-wracking than what had happened with Mads. She’d been so close to that slayer … and now she was going to have to face her for the first time in eight years, knowing what she had taken, what she had done. She was well aware that Tuck had mourned both Eden and herself for those long eight years, there was no doubt of that, but what scared her was the thought that Tuck was here as the Ripper, and the Ripper was not someone she wanted to face.

She’d had more than one nightmare in her first few years as a vampire of being hunted by the Ripper. Now here she was…

“Come on, Grim,” the Ripper said, “show me the monster I have to slay.”

“I’m not a monster, Tuck. I’m Fiona, your friend.”

The Ripper smiled, sending chills down her spine. “Friend or not, Fiona, you killed innocents, amongst others. You need to be taken care of.” She raised her sword. Slowly.

Fiona went to her knees, knowing she could not run. “Tuck,” she whispered. “Please…”

Tuck held the sword to Fiona’s heart, eyes crystal and filled with knowing. “I will give you what you want, Grim. That’s why I’ve come.”

“Don’t. I’m not—”

“You are,” Tuck replied softly … and the sword plunged deep.

Fiona shook her head, shivering at that particular nightmare. It was oft repeated, at rest or fully awake.

She tried to push it from her mind, the memories of the nightmares, but could not. It wasn’t just Tuck. It was the thought that other slayers would know she still lived after Tuck had seen her. Slayers were not very forgiving when it came to the killing of their own, and Fiona had done much killing, to both normal humans and slayers.

The slayer in her had screamed not to take those lives, but the vampire who had turned her, who had control over her, forced her to take life after life. Then the bastard let his will on her go, ceased his control on her, and set her free out into the world where he knew she’d kill more on her own, to try and shut the voices off in her head. And she’d heard voices—all the lives she’d taken echoing in her mind, haunting her every move, her every kill. She couldn’t control it, but she knew what she wanted, silence, and she knew how to get it—slayers.

That was why slayers-turned-vampire were tracked so quickly. They actually hunted down the scent of their own kind to end their suffering. She was no different.

She remembered the scent of hunters, the feel of them touching the slayer in her.

A gentle pull persisted as she fed, as she moved. It was deep, in her blood. She knew it well—blood calling blood. It made her pause over her victim, the human chest still heaving, trying to get air, still fighting. That made her want to drink more, and she turned her head back to her victim. The slayers could wait…

She shook the memory before it could get too far. The slayer in her had been very aware that they could still feel her, even at the height of her bloodlust, for the ability to mask her scent completely came long after her turning.

She remembered following the scent of a group of slayers but found herself lured by another, single slayer on her way to that group. This slayer had practically begged her to follow. She had killed two or three humans each night on the trail to this slayer, through each unnamed city and town, the screams of the dead ravaging her mind, more potently with each kill. Each kill made her crave more blood…

Bloodlust overrode everything, the sweet taste of it … oh she could taste it now.

It was so beautifully sweet on her tongue, so luscious and exquisite that she had to have more, so much more. She could never get enough. Just one more kill before the rapture of certain death. Nothing else mattered. Just one more…

Fiona forced herself out of the memory, gripping the side of the tub as she knelt by it as it filled. She heard it cracking and let go, closing her eyes and ordering every muscle in her body to calm, using the sound of the falling water to aid her senses. It was something she had learned growing up as a slayer, and despite how overwhelming the emotions inside of her could become, the exercise still worked.

The last she remembered of any slayer was being rendered unconscious. When she woke, she was in a cell at the mansion. She couldn’t remember if the slayer was male or female, or even if she’d known the person. All she knew was that it was a slayer, and that was the only thing that mattered at the time.

Teaser Tuesday

Here is a short excerpt of Over the River for your #TeaserTuesday 🙂



Copyright 2016 October Weeks

A porch swing with chipped paint lolled on the far right side as they stopped in front of the steps. The left side chain had rusted and broken off so that the swing was touching the porch. The scene fit perfectly with the house—broken, rusted, and decaying. Unease fluttered in Delilah’s stomach the more she focused on the swing. Dark butterflies multiplied with each heartbeat.

“Strange that it’s broken like that,” Milly said. “Considering they’re trying to sell the house, I mean.”

Tearing her gaze from the swing, Delilah replied, “Yeah, but it hasn’t had a showing in ten years for some weird reason. No one’s come to check on it, that’s all.” Yet, Milly’s comment had deepened the unease in her, causing the flutters in her stomach to quicken.

Milly shrugged. “Or the ghosts did it.”

“Or that.” Delilah turned her gaze to the door. “Are you ready for this, Milly?”

Milly took a deep breath. The moment her friend set foot on the stairs, she was going to get flashes of the past, showing the life there and how people had died. Joslyn couldn’t block Milly’s gift completely, and Delilah was quite happy about that.

“I’m ready,” Milly said, dropping her hand from her hip. “You?”

“After what we just learned, hell yes.”

They took their first step in unison, as was normal for them. The energy shifted from eyes watching her to a darker edge of warning, and the flutters became more erratic, spreading from her stomach to the rest of her body.

Instinct, training, and experience all told her that the Faust home was held together by darkness, fear, and twisted energy.

“Go away,” a little voice whispered. “Leave, please leave.”

With that whisper in her mind, the darker edge of warning got a bit sharper.

Joslyn didn’t want them there. Too damn bad for her.

The back door looked sturdy but rundown. Uriah had given them the key but was not certain if the lock would budge since it hadn’t been used in a decade. That many years of being subjected to Vermont weather could do a lot to the exterior of a building.

Milly took another deep breath before grasping the knob gently, slowly. She stiffened for a moment. “Oh, Lilah. She does not want us in there.”

“I know,” Delilah replied softly. “I can feel it.”

Milly inserted the key into the lock, and after a little muscling, the door unlocked. She turned the knob and pushed it open. The wood creaked loudly in response as if the house were protesting their intrusion.