Who’s Your WIP? Sean Hayden

Welcome to the first instalment of Who’s Your Wip; an end of the month blog series highlighting authors and their Works In Progress. This month I’m proud to bring you an excerpt from Sean Hayden’s soon-to-be released Abominations; the third book in the Demonkin Series.


“Kid, wake up.”

I opened my eyes and Thompson stood over me like a big black tidal wave threatening to crash down on me. “What?”

“It’s an hour after sunset. Why are you still sleeping?”

I closed my eyes and felt around for the sun. Sure enough I could feel it glowing well below the horizon. Most vampires woke and rose with the sun. I’m a little different. My name is Ashlyn Thorn and I was born a vampire. I use that term very loosely. Vampires aren’t born, they’re made. I was an anomaly to say the least. I didn’t burst into flame when exposed to sunlight, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. I had talons instead of nails. My fangs are curved. Oh and when I get really pissed off, I grow horns and my fangs and talons get longer. Yeah, I know. I’m a freak. I’ve been calling myself that for eighteen years. Especially since I don’t eat people, I eat monsters.

The gigantic black man standing over me was Special Agent James Thompson. He had the dubious honor of being my partner. He’s a werelion and a pretty tough bastard, so I haven’t managed to get him killed like everybody else in my life as of late. He actually even kind of likes me a little.

“Sorry, I’ll get dressed. Shoo.”

“Oh, you did not just shoo me, did you?”

“It’s my house, don’t make me sorry I gave you the damn key. Now unless you want an eyeful of naked partner, go wait outside. Be out in a minute.”

Thompson chuckled and did as he was told. I smiled a little at his retreating back. He and I had been through a lot in the past six months. I had charged into a burning building to pull his fat from the fryer. He’d done a hell of a lot more to keep me safe. I couldn’t imagine doing this job without him. A soft sigh escaped from my lips. As of late I had been having trouble doing the job even with him. It seemed the more I tried to do the right thing, the worse I screwed up.

I stripped my clothes on the way to the bathroom and left them lying on the floor with the countless others. It was Wednesday and I would probably be doing laundry all weekend just to catch up. If my aunt, the former owner of the house, were still alive she wouldn’t let me live it down. I glanced over at her picture on her, I mean my, dresser and smiled. I missed her. I missed her a lot. If it weren’t for the Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, I wouldn’t have this house, the picture of her, or anything else in Chicago.

When she died, I ran. I was recruited by the FBI to smack around the monsters that couldn’t get along with the normal people. I didn’t want her memory tarnished as the lady who hid the freaky vampire, so I dropped my last name and just became Ashlyn. Special Agent in Charge Reese did a little digging into fatal car accidents that happened around the same time I came out of the vampiric closet and put two and two together. Smart man, that Reese. As it turned out, he had all me records changed to show my last name, got the house pulled out of probate put into my name, and gave me more than a home. Thompson and I were originally supposed to be stationed in Washington DC. We’re both from Chi-town. His wife was very happy we were staying here. I was very happy, too. Mostly because I got to take vampire lessons from a hunky French vampire who owned a bunch of nudie bars. Shucky darn.

Thoughts of Marcel made my thoughts drift to Vic. Vic was the first “like me” vampire I had ever made. I hadn’t meant to, it just happened during a “I think your hot let me suck on your neck while you suck on mine” feeding frenzy in California. I had actually fallen in love with another girl. I made her like me. I got her killed. The memory haunted me every minute of every day, but that’s what happens when it turns out the bad guy is the good guy you were trying to protect.

I silent cursed Governor Greer and hoped he was rotting in one of the seven hells. I put him there. I just wish I could have delivered him personally. The problem with that is I might run into dear old dad. Yeah, as it turns out, my papa is a demon. Asmodisomething. I planned on skipping all the family reunions since he wanted me deader than I already was.

I flipped on the light switch in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like shit. My cheekbones were sticking out, my eyes were sunken, my flesh was pasty, and I had black circles around, below, above, next to, and to the right of my eyes. I looked like an undead raccoon. I tried to remember the last time I ate and drew a blank. I kicked myself and made a mental note to grab a lycanthrope juicy pouch from the fridge on my way out the door. Yes, I kept werewolf blood in my refrigerator. Oh, and I’m a Scorpio.

I brushed my teeth and fangs and flossed to remove all the unwanted plaque and red blood cells from between my teeth. With half lidded eyes, I rinsed with minty medicine flavored mouthwash. The floor suddenly tilted up at a ninety degree angle to smash me in the face. At least that’s what it looked like as I passed out and fell to the floor.

* * *

The feeling of cold liquid burning like the sun as it hit my tongue, spread a nummy warmth throughout my body woke me from my little nap. Thompson had my head in his lap and was holding a little plastic sack of Chateau de Werewolf Pinot Sangreal 2011 over my face and was squirting copious amounts into my open mouth like a high school football team water-boy. I blinked twice and took the pouch from him and sucked it dry. I didn’t have the strength to move, and honestly, the wonderful feelings spreading through my body were too good to ruin by standing up. I stretched like a cat and ran my hands over my stomach.

“Um, Ash. Ixnay on the etchystrays, okay?”

I looked up at his face and he wasn’t looking anywhere near my eyes. They were transfixed on something about two feet down. I looked down and realized I was still butt naked and rubbing myself in front of my partner, a happily married man. I punched him in the chest. “Get a good look, perv?”

I used the little strength I had gleaned from my juice pouch and shot into the bathroom like a cheetah with a bottle-rocket shoved up its ass. I wrapped a towel around me, choked down the sense of horrific embarrassment threatening to make me curl up into fetal position, and walked calmly back into my bedroom. Thompson still sat on the floor. He had his elbow on his leg and rested his head on his fist. He didn’t look angry or remorseful. He looked worried.

“Kid,” he said without looking up, “Go eat some more.”

“I will. I planned on eating before we left, I just didn’t make it.”

“I mean now. Go.”

“Yes, sir,” I said with a little more sarcasm than I intended. I walked through my very quiet, very clean house and into the kitchen. I heard my bedroom door close and thought I could hear the sounds of a cell phone dialing, but I couldn’t be sure. With the door closed my hearing was good, just not that good. He was probably calling his wife. He had a tendency to do that when weird stuff happened between us. He called quite often.

I opened the fridge and forgot about Thompson. My stomach sounded like somebody tried to flush a screaming squirrel down an airplane toilet. I pulled out three pouches of blood and sat down at the kitchen counter to enjoy my meal. By the time I was done, Thompson came out of my bedroom.

“Were you trying on my clothes?” I tried to sound light hearted. I sounded like a bitch, even to me.

Thompson furrowed his brows. The effect was lost on me. “Kid, you’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well…you’re a big poopie head.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. You’re grounded.”

I rolled my eyes and stood to go get dressed. “Whatever.”

He grabbed my arm as I tried to pass. I looked down at his hand and back up at his face. “Ashlyn, I’m serious. You’re on leave. I called Reese and I called Marcel. You are off active duty until you get your head on straight.”

I couldn’t do anything but stare. I thought he was joking around. He still didn’t look angry, he looked worried as hell. “Jim, I’m fine,” I tried to lie to him and myself. It didn’t work.

“Marcel is on his way. Reese is sending over the bureau psychologist. You’re to remain in Marcel’s care and supervision. That is the standing order. You get to get your head in the game and learn all sorts of vampiry stuff. Got it?”

“And what do you get to do?”

“I’m taking some vacation time, too. If you’re out, I’m out,” he said with a wink.

That sort of sealed the deal for me. It told me how screwed up I really was. If he was going to take vacation time, either the world was going to blow up or he was really worried. I think I would have preferred the whole world blowing up thing. I lost it. I dropped to the floor on my ass and started crying. They came and wouldn’t stop. Wracking sobs shook my entire body and I was helpless to stop them. I heard Thompson slide down the side of the counter and sit on the floor next to me. My eyes were too full of bloody tears to see him, but I felt his arms as the scooped me up and pulled me tightly to his chest. I buried my face in his black suit jacket and cried some more. I did that for another hour before I finally fell asleep with the sun hours away from rising.


Abomination will be released later this year by Untold Press: http://untoldpress.com/

authorphotoBorn the son of a fire chief, Sean naturally developed a love of playing with fire. His family and friends quickly found other outlets for his destructive creativity. Writing is his latest endeavor.

Always a fan of the macabre, mythical, and magical, Sean found a love of urban fantasy and horror. After writing several novels in this genre, he found, fell in love with, and immersed himself in steampunk. He has always wanted to rewrite history and steampunk gave him that opportunity.

Sean currently lives in Florida as a fiber-optic engineer as well as an author. He was blessed with the two most amazing children he could ever hope for, has met the absolute love of his life, who coincidentally is his partner in everything. His hobbies include grand designs on world domination as well as a starring role in his own television sitcom.


About Darke Conteur
Darke Conteur is a writer at the mercy of her Muse. The author of stories in several genres, she prefers to create within the realms Science Fiction and Dark Fantasy. A pagan at heart, her personal goal it to find her balance within nature; exploring the dark through her stories and the light through her beliefs. When not writing or working with crystals, she enjoys knitting, gardening, cooking and very loud music.

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