Written by Falconempress. Posted on Mar 31, 03:27 PM.

"You Slay Me" Spork: Chapter 2

What happened so far:

Not much, actually. Aisling told her whole life story to Antoine, the customs officer from HELL, she met a rather enjoyable chap named Rene and then found a supposedly dead body hanging from the ceiling over a strange circle with symbols.

So, Aisling pretty much has a frog in her bidet (okay, I promise to stop saying that, it’s just that it’s so stupid it fits perfectly with the tone of the book). She is alone in an appartment with an unmoving body hanging from the cieling. What does our protagonist do?

She stops for a while and thinks how awesome she is for not running out the appartment shrieking. She only whimpers. I am not going to bitch about this too much, although it does not seem to me like a human reaction. Honestly, if you were in a creepy, dead – quiet neighborhood where not even the birds chirp and you would climb up to the eerily quiet apartment and suddenly found a dead body there, I think you would do more than just whimper. But I digress.

She talks to herslef some more, things like “Get a hold of yourself“ and approaches the person who found herself in such an unfortunate position. Aisling then wonders whether the woman really is dead and that surely, they way the woman is strung indicates she is dead. She thinks about the body returning to life suddenly and going after her, which would elevate this book greatly. But that is too awesome to happen and besides, the zombie would go hungry. Aisling has no brains it could eat.

Aisling then swears by saying “poop“ and careful not to touch the circle reaches out to feel the pulse on the woman’s neck.

She really does say “poop“. And before that, she swears by saying „Oh shoot“. I am starting to have horrible Twilight flashbacks.

Anyways, she reaches for the woman’s neck, but is disturbed by a man’s voice calling out behind her. This startles her so much, she loses her balance and nearly falls onto the poor, hanging woman, but somebody grabs her dress from behind, thus preventing her fall. In French, the man warns her not to touch the supposedly dead woman, but being the loser she is, Aisling does not speak a word of French, unless it has something to do with frogs or insulting people. He assumes she is American and turns out our mysterious stranger speaks English. He lets Aisling go and her first reaction is „I didn’t kill her“.

She then examines the strange man, a potential murderer, might I add, as “tall, dark and handsome, dressed all in black“. I am not kidding, this is the serious description this guy gets:

I used the moment to examine him. I’m not exactly an idiot—if I find myself in a room with a murder victim, the big, tall, dark-haired, extremely handsome guy dressed in black who positively reeks of danger and who mysteriously pops up out of nowhere is naturally going to be on the top of my Potential Murderer List.“

Okay, sorry, my reiteration was not a hundred percent perfect. He is extremely handsome.

He has deep green eyes (Eye mention count: 1) and asks her if she is going to vomit on him since she looks sick. Oh, the epic romance is just writing itself, itsn’t it?

Instead of doing something reasonable, like trying to get out of there and/or calling the police, Aisling decides to be a smartass:

“You aren’t going to vomit on me, are you?”
“That wasn’t on my list of planned activities for the afternoon, no, but if you really insist, I suppose I could try for a hairball or something.”
His head tipped to the side for a moment as he examined me from toes to nose. “I’ve never completely under-stood American humor. That was supposed to be a joke, yes?”

Good to know at least somebody here has at least a rough image of what does humor look like. Also, “toes to nose“ sounds rather random, doesn’t it?

But only after a bad attempt at funny does Aisling remember she should be running from the strange man in a dead woman’s apartment, so she moves towards the chair where her case is resting (she put it there before, I guess), and closer to the door. The mysterious green – eyed stranger (Eye mention count: 2), however, sees this and moves so that he is blocking her exit. If I were Aisling, all sorts of alarms would go off in my head. Like, for example, the “I left something in my oven“ alarm. Or the “I have that thing with the guy and I am running late” alarm.

His eyes “glitter darkly“ (Eye mention count: 3) as he says:

“Ah. Yes. A joke. I thought that is what it was.”

Surprisingly enough, there is still some survival instinct left in Aisling and she rightfully freaks out at the fact he just blocked her exit. She starts blabbering about how she wanted to check if the woman is really dead but that sounds wrong to her, so she blabbers some more. The man says he understands what she meant and that it was okay.

“You want to make sure there is nothing you can do for her,” the dark man said neutrally, his voice—a sexy blend of an English accent and something that sounded vaguely Germanic to my ears—oddly flat. It sounded just the way you’d expect someone to speak if he suspected you of being a deranged killer.

Is it just me or has Aisling gone bipolar? On one hand, she is freaking out, on the other, she has no problem observing how sexy the voice of the potential murderer is. Huh.

“Although that really is an oxymoron. I mean, what killer isn’t deranged?”

Not to be confused with “moron“ which is what describes Aisling best. And yes, she does say that out loud. This chick talks to herself a lot, doesn’t she?

The brilliant green eyes (Eye mention count: 4) considered me for a moment. “Is that a rhetorical question, or do you wish for an analysis of the mind of killers?”

This annoys Aisling for some reason and she suggests checking the woman hanging from her chandelier. Drake finds it surprising and asks whether Aisling doesn’t believe the woman is dead.

I had to admit he had a point. The body was too still, the heavy silent atmosphere of the apartment (house, street, possibly the whole world) almost smothering. I knew without even thinking about it that there were only two living beings in the apartment, and the body that hung by her hands wasn’t one of them.“

Really? That’s what you’re going to go with? Silent atmosphere? Cut her down and CHECK, will you?

But no, she does nothing, because the man suddenly closes the open door, causing Aisling to freak out again. He grabs her arm and this time, she shrieks.

“What is the matter with you? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Me? Nothing’s the matter with me. I’m fine. Although, now I come to think of it, I have a horrible memory problem. I can’t remember what people look like. Or sound like. Or the things they said to me, or… or… anything. So anyone who was worried about what I might have seen or heard would really have nothing to worry about at all. Because of my memory problem. It’s permanent, too.”

Look at her go. If he were the real killer, he would have stabbed her in the back while she was oogling the supposedly dead woman and he was sneaking behind her so well she didn’t even know he was in the room until he opened his mouth.

He gave me a long, curious look, then made an annoyed noise and let go of my arm as he squatted down to study the ash circle. “I told you I didn’t kill her. I’m not going to harm you. Your fear of me is senseless.”

Yes, listen to the sane man who routinely hangs around dead people’s appartment.

What is it about scorn of any sort that makes your bravado fire up? My chin lifted at the arrogant tone in his back-to-being-sexy voice.

Aaaand since the imminent danger is no longer imminent, merely brushed off because the strange man clad all in blacks says so, we are back to being sexy. Honestly, this woman has worse mood swings than Edward Cullen. One moment, she’s scared shitless, and the next second the only thing she can think about i show hot the stranger is.

“Yeah? Who said I was afraid of you?”

Reason? Common sense? Primal survival instincts?

“I can smell your fear. What do you make of this?”

The only way this could improve is if this guy turns into a dog with a special collar that allows him to talk (anybody who gets that reference deserves a cookie).

He gestured toward the ash circle. I glanced toward it and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to sniff the air around my armpit region without it being obvious I was doing a BO check.

Yes, because when alone with a strange man in a dead person’s appartment, your BO should be the biggest of your worries.

“It’s an ash circle, inscribed with the twelve symbols of Ashtaroth. What does fear smell like, exactly?”

Let me guess – strawberries. Or crushed pine needles. Also – do not confuse “Ashtaroth“ with “Azatoth“. The two have nothing in common. (Yes, I know Ashtaroth, or on some transcripts, Astaroth is a bona fide demon. I just couldn’t help myself, sorry.)

He frowned at the circle but didn’t touch it. “Sexy.”

Damn it! “Fear smells sexy“ was the correct answer! I was so close!

I blinked a couple of times. (Like that was going to make me think better?) “What?”

Because blinking rapidly works wonders for increasing your brain capacity. The Bella Swan method of thinking, ladies and gentlemen!

He straightened up and turned toward me, and once again I was very much aware that I was alone in an apartment with a dead woman and a mysterious man who was much too handsome for my peace of mind. “It brings out the predator in me.”

Run! RUN! RUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNN!!!!!

My eyes widened as he leaned toward me, his eyes a mesmerizing green (Eyes mention count: 5) that seemed to suck me into their cool depths. There was something about him that made every atom within me aware that he was a man, and I was a woman, and there were certain fundamental differences between us that my body very much wanted to explore, regardless of the fact that he might be a murderer.

Uuuh, guys? How about the poor woman swinging from her chandelier on her dislocated arms? No one? Okaaaaay, how about the fact that a possible killer just described himself as “predator“ who finds the smell of fear “sexy”? Nothing?

He nodded, the thick black of his lashes emphasizing the purity of the green irises. (Eyes mention count: 6) “And because of the masculine nature of my reaction,

Haha, I am sorry, I just read that as “erection“ every time I have no idea why:P

you feel threatened on a feminine level. Thus you make jokes as a defense when others might feel it inappropriate to do so.”

Really? Just because of the masculine nature of your enormous, throbbing reaction? (Now tell me you really read that as “reaction“. I dare you)

“Are you saying there’s a guy/girl thing going on between us?”

Wow, a divorced thirty – something saying “shoot“, “poop“ and describes the fact that she is wet as October just at the sight of this potentially very dangerous man as a “guy/girl thing“. I haven’t seen the sort of gross understatement since… no.

Various parts of my body were pleading for just such an eventuality,

Yes, you were kind enough to tell us so. In an excrutiating detail.

but I firmly told those parts to behave themselves, and remember that the man they were lusting after was probably a murderer. “Are you saying that I’m afraid because you’re a man and I’m a woman, and not at all because we’re standing in front of a woman who was quite obviously murdered?“

Yeah, we should probably stop undressing each other with our eyes for a moment.

His lips quirked.

How do lips “quirk“? No, seriously, English not my first language, so I’m asking the native speakers out there – is this a real verb? I just never came across it being used that way before.

The two examine the circle, Aisling says it looks like it is closed to her, whatever that means. She asks the man who he is and for a while they play the supremely annoying “Why should I tell you“ and “I asked you first“ game. The man then decides to stop being oh so mysterious, pulls out his wallet from his black leather jacket (because, as we know, that is what all the bad boys always wear) and introduces himself as Drake Vireo. And not only that.

“Drake Vireo. Interpol.”
My mouth hung open in fly-catching position for a couple of seconds before I realized it. “Interpol? The one that’s like the international Scotland Yard?“

Yeah, if Scotland Yard did nothing all day long.

So turns out Drake is kinda like a detective. He then wonders how could the demon escape when the circle is still closed. This shocks Aisling and she stares at him dumbstruck. Wait, scratch that. She stares at him struck. She cannot get any dumber than she already is.

“What is it with everyone in this country, you’re all demon-obsessed or something?“

Oh I don’t know, it may have something to do with the customs officer who had the eternal HELLFIRE BURNING IN HIS EYES. If this girl were any more stupid, her IQ would be in negative numbers.

Drake seems annoyed at her reaction and wonders where the demon summoned in the circle went and accuses Aisling of denying what is right in front of her eyes. She basically calls Drake crazy for implying that a demon was involved, although she does admit the whole setup does look like ritual destruction because of the circle, the way body is hanging and that she probably has her heart pierced with some silver object. We do not know for sure, because the lady is still, in fact hanging there, nobody bothered to cut her down and examine her and no, I am not getting over this awful example of callousness just because there is a man in the room that makes you feel all tickly down there. Guh.

Put all together, Aisling says the whole thing seems like one of the Three Demon Deaths, with the random capitalization, because random capitalization somehow makes things seem important and ominous.

During the exchange, Drake “cocked one glosy black eyebrow“. I am not sure whether or not I should put it in the Eyes mention count, but heck, the purple prose deserves it! (Eyes mention count: 7)

Drake looked amused. “You don’t believe in demons?”

“I’ll take no for five hundred, Alex.“

Because bad Jeopardy references will never get old. How I wish I were watching the “Celebrity Jeopardy” from SNL. You have no idea. Sean Connery would murder them all and then order a martini. Sigh.

She then says only sad and disturbed people believe in demons and this for some reason angers Drake and causes him to flare his nostrils:

His nostrils flared again. If I weren’t so convinced he was stark, staring mad, I’d have admitted to myself that he even did a nostril flare well.“

Aaaaand of course even his nostril flare is perfect. Who cares he if is a deeply disturbed and possibly dangerous individual? He’s hot!

….no, that can’t be…

Aisling says she should call the police but Drake stops her because there is no need since he had already done that. But Drake is still mad because she is denying what is right before her eyes, the demon summoning and all. She says she is just a courier but questions Drake about his presence, since he could not be there as a Professional since there is no official homicide squad with him and that the woman does not look like she has been dead for long.

Dead? Are you sure? Did you bother to CHECK?

Drake is surprised that Aisling can make such bold claim and asks her how does she know the woman has not been dead long.

“Rigor hasn’t set in yet. If you look at the angle between her arms and her back, you’ll notice it’s closing as rigor starts to take hold. That means she’s either been dead for more than twelve hours, and rigor is wearing off, or it’s just setting in, which means she’s been dead… oh, maybe fifteen minutes. But I don’t have to tell you that—you’re a cop.”

Oh, so along with reading medieval scriptures on demonology, Aisling is also a coroner in disguise. Because demonology and forensic medicine are exactly the hobbies one would expect a young woman who thinks “hazel“ sounds more exotic than “gray“ to have!

“I specialize in finding lost items, not examining murder scenes,” Drake said abruptly.

So? You’re a cop, for fucks sake! I am in law school and I know more from my Forenscic Medicine and Advanced Investigation courses than this clown who is supposed to be a professional!

“How do you know so much about the stages of decomposition?”
“The Detection Channel. I’m addicted to a reality forensic medicine show on it. It’s really interesting. They do autopsies and stuff.“

Oh so that’s it, boys and girls. Those silly people in medical schools are busting their asses for six years just for shits and giggles! All you need to know about forensic medicine can be learned from the Detection Channel! While we’re at it, what kind of name is “Detection Channel“ anyways? If the author is not taking this seriously, why should I?

„Do you know what happens to bones left exposed to the elements?”
“Yes, they turn brown.”
“That’s right. I thought you said you didn’t work homicides?”

Genius! That is genius! Not at all something one could gather from watching a single random episode of Bones ! No, this truly proves how awesome and learned and absolutely perfect in any imaginable way our two leads are!

As it turns out, Drake has been on the site for about fifteen minutes, which means he heard Aisling ringing but did not let her in. This pisses our Snowflake off but she then admits that if she were in his position, she probably would have done the same. She then demands to know why was Drake meeting the lady swinging from her chandelier, but instead of answering he turns the conversation around – again – asking Aisling why is she not telling him anything and why is she, the Guardian playing stupid games. Blah blah blah he demands she explained herself, they do the whole “you certainly are more than you let on“ charade for the hundreth time.

Please.

Drake is confused because she smells like she’s telling the truth about not knowing anything, and yet she knows so much about demon lore.

“What is it with you telling me I smell? I took a shower this morning!“

This girl – yes, girl, because she talks like she is fucking four – is shallow beyond belief. And dumb, for that matter. If a guy tells you he can smell your fear or whether you are lying, the right question to ask is not when did you last shower. The correct thought is “What is the fastest way out of here?“

Drake demands to know what she was sent to deliver since she is a courier and all. Aisling does another 180 and thinks that Drake has “an intriguing air of danger“. Honestly, Aisling makes Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde seem like a rather amiable and balanced chap. So she says it was just a small statue of a “creature“ and that Drake should be examining the body and stuff since he is a cop. Drake is not persuaded that easily and asks what the statue is made of. Aisling says metal. Drake then smells the air and calls her bullshit.

Aisling then runs.

FINALLY.

Or tries to run. Drake catches up to her and she starts blabbering again.

“You know what? I think I need to see your badge again. You’re not doing this questioning thing right at all. You should be asking me my name and where I’m staying and whether I knew Mme. Deauxville and stuff like that, not babbling on about demons and why someone would use the Circle of Ashtaroth to summon one of the demon prince’s legions, and what the small, insignificant statue I brought is made of.”

“For someone who professes not to be a Guardian, you appear very learned in demon lore,” he said in sort of a low growl that sent shivers of mingled thrill and fear down my spine.

Oh he growls. And its sexy even though he is chasing you around the apartment. Which is okay because he is hot. Just like…that other guy… hmm…

With a move that was too fast for me to follow,

Naturally.

he grabbed my arm and hauled me up to his chest, one hand clamped behind me, the other grabbing my hair and pulling my head back. “Very well. We will play this game as you demand. What is your name?”

“Aisling,” I said before I realized what I was doing. My body—traitor that it is—thoroughly enjoyed being smooshed up against him, fully aware of the long hard lines of his body.

Seriously, how high on hormones IS this woman? No matter how desperate and without sex for god – knows – how – long, I have never met a woman that would be this horny around a guy who is openly abusing her! When somebody gets you in a Camel clutch (or close enough), you do NOT rub yourself all over him. Unless… naaah.

After several seconds of numbed bemusement, the sane side of my mind regained control. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t man-handle me like this! Let me go!”
Oh NOW you’re squirming.

“You wished for me to ask questions—I am simply granting that wish. Where are you staying?”

Yes, tell the abusive man where you live.

“The H6tel de la Femme Sans Tete. Let go of me!”

Aisling is now officially dumber than sand. Which makes the whole thing that much more amusing, since the name of the hotel means “Hotel of the Headless Woman“. Took some French in high school.

“Not yet. Did you know Mme. Deauxville?”
“No, I told you I was a courier. Stop holding me like this, it’s not at all PC.”
“PC?”
“Politically correct. Let me go.”

I don’t think the author knows what “Politically Correct“ means. Also – ha. Ha. Look at me not laughing.

His eyes narrowed on me. “A Guardian who claims she is not a Guardian, and yet who understands the steps needed to summon a demon. What a puzzle you present me. I believe it is a puzzle worth investigating.” Instead of releasing me, he buried his head in my neck and drew in a deep breath.

Restrainig order. NOW.

“What on earth are you doing?” I shrieked, beginning to struggle in earnest despite the urge to go all girly on him.

Aisling is now also too dumb to live. Also – „to go GIRLY on him“? Girly? But seeing as she has the mental maturity of a pre – schooler I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Memorizing your scent.”

My money is on crushed pine needles. No, strawberries. No! Needles! Gah! So many options.

“What?” I shrieked again, then realized that it wasn’t just my own voice that was echoing around the room— police sirens outside the windows were growing steadily louder.

Yes! The police is here! Hooray!

Drake pulled his face out of my neck just long enough to give me a look that left my knees weak.

That counts, right? I make the rules and that is a horrible and inappropriate reaction in an awful purple prose. And I hate this book. (Eyes mention count: 8)

There was something different about his beautiful green eyes. (So soon already? Eyes mention count: 9) The pupils were slightly elongated rather than round, almost like a cat’s eye, but not quite as dramatic (Descriptions do not count). It wasn’t just his eyes, though. It was the way he touched me, the way he spoke, the way he … scented me. There was something not quite human about him that had my heart racing.

Really? No way! Surely you jest! That is such a shocking realization! I wonder if this will become relevant in any shocking revelation later on. Like… he may not be quite what he looks like?

I understood then what he meant about my fear of him—it was definitely sexually charged, but beneath that was a baser emotion—the fear of being consumed, destroyed by a being who was much more powerful than I.

So a girl has the hots for a much more powerful being who she falls for HARD the second she sees him despite the fact that he could destroy her if he so wished, and their interactions have so far only been abusive, unhealthy, but still she wastes enough purple prose on his description to make herself orgasm despite the very primal urge to save her ass. Even though this is wrong and disturbing, it is in no way reminiscent on any other paranormal romance story I ever heard about or saw a movie based on. Nope. Does not ring any bells. Any similarities are just a coincidence.

With a gentle touch that belied the threat in his voice, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and said, “The police are here, Aisling; thus I must bid you adieu. I do not know for what purpose you are denying the truth, but I advise you to be a bit more circumspect with the French police. They are not known for their tolerance of those who dally with the dark powers.”

I wouldn’t say that. They let that one guy go and to this day, he works the customs at Orly.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, the warmth so quickly withdrawn that he was gone before I pulled my wits together.

Wait, WHAT? What WAS that?

“What? Hey! You can’t kiss me!

Wow. I have nothing.

And what do you mean to be more circumspect? What dark powers? Where are you going—? No! Stop! That’s mine!”

After that…non squitur… Drake grabs the case with the priceless “creature“ statue and runs off. Aisling tries to run after him but she stumbles and nearly falls on the lady who was just hanging out (get it? Get it? It because she HANGS- Ouch. I just slapped myself I don’t know why). Aw, she is also a klutz. Isn’t that just adorable? But she does not fall on the lady, but as she struggles for balance, she grabs something else, something she didn’t see before because of the way the body is hunched over. Turns out its a “seax“ a long, thick curved blade made out of silver Aisling has only seen in those pesky medieval demonolgy scriptures she keeps on her nightstand. Since she and Drake are done dry – humping, her brain starts working, well, as much as her brain can “work“, and she is all shocked by this since this is one of the aforementioned Three Demon Deaths, capitalized and all.

And then the police bursts in to catch her with the bloody murder weapon in her hands. Aisling is then promptly arrested.

This is starting to look up:)

And that concludes Chapter Two. And I am positive that You Slay Me cannot possibly be confused with anything else ever written in the genre… oh who am I kidding! It is time to face the truth! This is Twilight! It’s fucking Twilight with fucking dragons and demons instead of werewolves and vampires and I fucking hate it! Make it go awaaaay!!! breaks down in tears

(Eyes mention count: 9)

Thank you for reading (and suffering along with me),

Falconempress

Tagged as Aisling Gray, Falconempress, Paranormal Romance, Spork.

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